Different for Girls
by unoriginal-elizabeth
Summary: Since his dad and Nora Brady-Bunched it up, his whole life has felt like a giant game of Six Degrees of Casey McDonald. Dasey, futurefic
1. Chapter 1

NOTES: ...not my usual - so it might not work for you. Apologies if that's the case. Comments and criticism are very welcome, though.

Also, this is rated M (as you can see from the...M rating) - I suck at figuring out ratings, but definitely there are references to sexual situations, so I'm giving an extra 'heads up' if that's not your thing.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own LWD - this is done for fun not profit.

* * *

Plot summary: it's him and Casey, during the second week of college, (more than) making out on a total stranger's bed.

If this was a movie, right about now the critics would be sharpening their knives and sniffing about the lack of foreshadowing in the third act twist. Because...him and Casey? For real? What he means is, the build up makes sense – since his dad and Nora Brady-Bunched it up, his whole life (dates, grades, friends...everything) has felt like a giant game of Six Degrees of Casey McDonald. Ultimately, no matter how normal (read: 'not about Casey') things start out, they always seem to loop back to Her Lameness. So it's not a huge surprise to find her at Some Guy's house party. And because Casey is...Casey, it makes total sense that, having conquered London, she's taking the opportunity to try out for Loser of Toronto, as she has a Casey-fit over...something and ends up barricading herself in the bathroom.

This affects Derek, because it affects Derek's date (and some other people too). In the absence of an Emily to talk Casey out of being crazy, it's up to him to step up to the plate. The queue for the bathroom is noticeably longer by the time he insults Casey into opening the door, but there's genuine gratitude underneath the sarcastic applause when she emerges. Of course, that almost causes Casey to bolt back inside, so he cements his reputation as the hero of the hour, and argues her into the bedroom where she left her coat.

The set-up is solid, is what he's driving at. He just has no idea how they got from –

"I feel so humiliated – I thought he really liked me" –

"Yeaaah – he obviously didn't. Crazy girls are so last season." (She can't feel more humiliated than that guy who couldn't wait and had to use the window).

– to them being horizontal with both his hands up her shirt, feeling her up through the thin fabric of her bra. He gets the feeling a couple of frames have been skipped. But the only sound louder than her breathing, harsh in his ear, is the thumping of his heart – and really, at this particular moment? He's less concerned with the weirdness of the plot twist, and more concerned with the... narrative climax. So to speak.

Because he's never (seriously) thought about Casey in this particular scenario, but now that he has, he feels like he's going to explode if he can't follow through on the possibility. And for once, Casey is down with the program, running her hands up his back then down to his waistband and...

Casey...knows how to grope? He'd always pictured her dates as chaste hand-holding, let's look up at the stars, and oh, by the way, if you want to kiss me, I'm going to need dental records, proof of earnings and a five-year relationship plan written out in longhand – kind of affairs.

He's not complaining.

That said – it pretty much follows his imagined script for how more-than-making-out-(technically)-less-than-sex with Casey would go (if he'd ever imagined it). It's this completely awkward, graceless fumble. His hands are shaky and clumsy, and there's just no way to be smooth when he's yanking his fingers out of tangles (jeez, Casey, ever heard of conditioner?) and spitting out a mouthful of her hair at the same time. It's not a perfect first time – it's closer to a perfect disaster.

It's also the hottest experience of his life to date.

* * *

"That girl over there keeps looking at you," says his date (different to the girl at the house-party – hey, it's been a few days, he's Derek Venturi, and it's not like anything _major_ has happened that would cause him to change his habits).

He glances over his shoulder, and there's Casey at the bar.

"Is she an ex, or something?"

"Yeah, she's an ex-something," he agrees absently. Casey looks – like Casey. There's this underlying Casey-ness that prevents him from appreciating her objectively. Or...appreciating her at all, come to think of it. (He's not avoiding answering the question if no-one's asked it).

He notices that his date's glass is empty – and hey, looks like all Casey's definitions of 'courteous', and 'mannerly' and 'chivalrous' must have sunk in somewhere, because he heads for the bar. Casey whirls around immediately. Subtle.

"Oh, perfect," she mutters, when he squeezes in next to her.

"Born that way," he says and ignores her disbelieving snort. He watches her fingers tapping on the bar and when his drinks arrive, he jerks his head in her direction and says, "She's paying."

And what do you know - that makes her chase him all the way back to his table. Where things are supposed to follow their entirely predictable course (he insults Casey, Casey insults him, occasionally guest-starring Kendra/Sally/Emily/Random Girl of the Week). Except that this time, the guest star throws a tantrum –

"...talked and resolved the situation. Mature people use words to solve problems – but that's a little advanced for you. Not to worry, though – one day, when you know all your letters" –

He's just about to reply to that when his date scoops her purse off the table, and hey – when did she put on her coat?

"Why don't you two just get a room?" she hisses, slinging her purse over her shoulder and stalking away, and Derek – Derek's going to follow her, really he is, it's just that his eyes have snapped onto Casey's (he hopes he doesn't look as stupid with shock), and he hadn't realized how close they were and...

(He can't speak for Casey, but he's suddenly back there, in that room, the suffocating heat making his skin prickle and Casey underneath him, nipples hard under his thumbs, and her leg in just the right position for him to rub against. Until of course someone bangs against the door. It's not a 'prelude-to-opening-a-door' kind of bang, more a 'hey!-my-coordination-is-shot-is-that-a-door?' bang, but it's enough to make Casey scrabble backwards on the bed, wide-eyed and panicky looking, and...)

"We could," he blurts, because _they could_, they could get a room, because Casey _almost let him – _

"What?" she says.

So obviously, he's the only one thinking about it – that's not a big deal. Just because he hasn't been able to get it out of his mind – well, that doesn't necessarily mean it was a good experience. It could be because he was deeply traumatized by it.

"I should go," her eyes connect squarely with his – shoulder. "I should – friend!...I should find my friend!"

"That's the spirit – keep looking, and someday, I'm sure you'll find one," he manages as she scurries away.

The only reason this hasn't gone according to plan, is because he totally didn't have a plan.

* * *

In the end, it all comes down to responsibility. The idea of him and Casey (_sex with Casey_), it's like an annoying song that gets stuck in his head. And the volume's cranked as high as it can go...it's so loud he can hardly hear anything else.

It's interfering with his ability to concentrate. His room-mate makes cracks about English obviously not being his first language, and he has to ask the girl who sits in front of him in Media Studies for her notes. (Even though she's physically nothing like Casey, here's something Casey-esque in the way she takes everything down, frowning intently). He flirts with two girls, but he's just going through the motions (usually, he _loves_ the motions). It's like Casey's spaceyness is a transmittable disease, passed on mouth-to-mouth.

Logic dictates that this can't go on.

And, see – thinking it through, _logically_, he sees where he's been going wrong...he's been treating the incident as if it's special. As if almost-nakedness and potential-sex makes the situation unique. But if it were any other girl, it wouldn't be a problem (it would be a possibility). And even when he replaces 'any other girl' with 'Casey', does it really make things that different? Casey has something he wants – that's happened before. That this time the 'something' is her body - okay, that's embarrassing, but...Ralph owns an ABBA CD. Wanting Casey has to rank at least a little lower on the embarrassment scale than that. (He's not protesting too much – he's protesting _just the right amount_).

Okay – Casey has something he wants. He takes it. That's how it works – and why mess with the system if the system works?

So, really, deciding to pursue Casey is a sensible, responsible decision motivated almost entirely by factors other than that soft sound she made that still makes his stomach twist when he remembers it. Factors like – his ability to pass classes, maintain conversations with other people...not get run over by oncoming traffic...

Really, he's being incredibly mature.

Anyway, he's pretty sure that the reason the crazy insane (_hot_) idea of him and Casey is stuck on repeat in his mind, is because they left it unfinished. Incomplete. Like a cliffhanger – it needs resolution. It's really got (almost) nothing to do with Casey at all.

(He can't even spell 'justification' – what are the chances he can provide an accurate definition?)

* * *

If it's just like every other game they've ever played (and it totally, totally is), someone has to make the first move. Derek thinks very hard and then does nothing for four days.

He's rewarded when Casey shows up at his door, glowering, holding her cell phone to her ear. "Yeah, I tracked him down," she says, "And he's not dead or injured or sick – but I'm sure he has a _really good excuse_ for not answering his phone for the last four days, Marti."

She extends the cell phone and narrows her eyes at him. He winces (it was necessary, but he's not looking forward to this) and takes it.

"Hey there, Smarti," he tries.

No answer.

"How are things?"

Nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Okay, so that one didn't deserve an answer.

"Let me guess – you're mad at me."

Silence.

"I get it. This is payback for the not calling and not answering my phone thing." He waits, then sighs. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Not okay, obviously, since no matter what else he says, he still has to endure ten more minutes of silence. Marti's good – by the end of it, his voice is nearly cracking from the tension and he's ready to spill (almost) all his secrets.

Then it's his dad's turn, and Derek takes the opportunity to wander bedroomwards while his dad shuffles words like, "...take responsibility...show consideration...family...worried...new leaf...work...important...hope you're not...want you to promise...try harder..." and puts them in order. He's heard it before, and the part that interests him the most is when he turns around and finds Casey standing in his doorway, arms folded.

He snaps her cell phone shut and puts it on the dresser, and Casey takes two steps into his room.

"That was really inconsiderate of you, Derek," she says. "You promised everyone" –

It's not like he feels good about it – and he's just _had_ this talk, so he cuts her off with, "Yeah, okay, message received."

But Casey's never met a point she didn't like to beat into the ground, so she just keeps talking, "...need to be more responsible" –

And her inability to let things go actually...kind of works for him. His stomach flips, but he forces himself to move towards her like this is just a normal fight, no endgame in sight.

"You can shut up, anytime."

" ...mean, what were you thinking – not answering your phone! Marti was really worried about you" –

Okay – he didn't pick up his cell phone once or twice...it's _really_ not that big a deal. He's standing in front of her now.

"Seriously, don't feel like you have to keep talking." See – he's given her the option. If she's too Casey to take it, well, then..._perfect_.

"And why is that? Because Derek Venturi can't take being faced with the fact that his actions have consequences. You can't handle the" –

He goes for it. His hands shoot out and grab her shoulders, and he kisses her.

It only lasts a second before she wrenches away. She just stands for a moment, mouth opening and closing, and he's almost sorry that this isn't a regular fight, because if it was, he would really be enjoying the look on her face. But it's not a regular fight, so instead of enjoying it, his palms are starting to sweat.

"What" – she starts, then clears her throat. She sounds very careful (and a hair away from a full blown Casey freak out) as she asks, "What was that?"

She says 'that' like it's a bug that crawled in front of her, instead of a kiss. He digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and (casual – he has to seem casual):

"A new way of asking you to shut up. Since you seemed to have problems understanding the old one."

"Derek – that's just...you can't" –

He kisses her again. This time, she backs into the doorway and nearly hits her head on the frame. (Really, this is hilarious. He doesn't get why he's not laughing).

"You did it again!"

"You didn't shut up," he points out.

"I want you to stop doing that!"

"And yet you keep talking." And for once in his life, he doesn't want her to stop.

She stops.

(The important thing to remember – is that it doesn't matter. It's just some stupid game)

They stare at each other for a long moment (and that's the beauty of his 'put up or shut up' idea. Even if Casey doesn't want to – and her lips are pressed together tightly, which means...Anyway, she still has to shut up. So, he totally wins. Go him).

Finally, Casey blinks, and he can't help it, his eyes are fixed on her mouth as she takes a breath.

"Um..." she says, and that counts, right? It has to, because his hands are suddenly out of his pockets and cupping her jaw and he's kissing her hard. Then his hands are on her waist, and his tongue is in her mouth and he's definitely being way too intense about something he's trying to pass off as a 'you're so annoying, look at the lengths I'm willing to go to just to shut you up' tactic – but who cares when the third time is definitely the charm, and she's kissing him back, pressing right up against him, and that's just..._yes_.

Of course it's not exactly that simple. It's Casey – her name is practically a five letter word for 'bad timing', which she helpfully demonstrates ten minutes later by gasping out, "What are we doing?"

They're on the bed, and he's on top, working diligently on clothing removal. He shifts back a very little and says –

"Wow. This is awkward." (By the way, he's not panting).

"Yes!" she agrees quickly, relieved. "It really" –

"I mean," he continues, "I always figured a super-keener such as yourself would have memorized the biology textbook." He sighs, like 'great, another chore', and his hands creep back to the bottom of her t-shirt, "You start by removing this" –

"Derek!" she squawks, but his fingers are tracing the skin of her stomach and she takes a sharp breath in, and he's going to get what he wants, he _knows _it, because Casey wants it too.

He's been sort of focused on the 'him wanting Casey' part of the equation – flipping it around to 'Casey wanting him' (even if it is inevitably flavored with 'But I am Casey, and must make everything complicated!') – makes him feel...'invincible' is probably the word that comes closest, but that's not entirely it. He's winning, and oddly, for once, it doesn't make him want to gloat. Instead, (and it's almost like he's acting without his own consent) he leans down, and kisses her softly.

When he draws back, Casey just looks at him for a long moment, very serious. He stares back at her, and he has no clue what she's seeing (not that he's scared or anything). Then her hands are reaching up and pulling him down again.

(He's won before – trophies, hockey games, arguments. It's funny though– he doesn't remember victory ever feeling like this).

Afterwards, it's weird again. There's this moment of toe-curling dread when she looks at him, half-panicked, half-expectant, and he figures he's supposed to do something, or say something. Maybe she and Noel sang duets about the power of love every time she let him kiss her, or something.

In the silence he can hear her breathing coming fast. Faster. Before she arrives at hyperventilation, he says, quickly, "So, that – wasn't a big deal, or anything."

It's not (quite) a question.

She swallows, then, "No," she agrees. (Sorry, did he fall into the twilight zone at some point? Because since when does Casey EVER agree with him?). "No, it's – really – not."

"Just one of those things," he tries (the buzzer's about to go – is that _really_ your final answer?).

"Not a big deal," she says again, in a strained voice.

(Strange – he'd kind of thought it was).

Later, after Casey's hustled out of his place, smacking into his returning room-mate in the process (maybe this hasn't been a 'big deal', but it's been a good night for physical comedy), he has time to think.

The thing is...whatever happened between him and Casey (leaving the big deal/not a big deal thing completely out of it), it's like – a surprise summer blockbuster. There's this unexpectedly...good...thing – naturally, there are going to be demands for a follow up. A sequel.

He walks over to his dresser, and picks up Casey's cell phone. As he slips it into his pocket, he can practically see 'To be continued' floating in front of his eyes.

(Not that it's a big deal or anything).


	2. Chapter 2

NOTES: Welcome to the next installment - also known as 'where extended metaphors come to die. Slowly.' Anyway someone told me that this is maybe more of a T rating (I am SO bad with rating things), so I'm changing it - hopefully that's appropriate for this chapter as well. Thanks very much to everyone who commented :)

DISCLAIMER: Made for fun, not profit. I don't claim any ownership of LWD.

* * *

It goes something like...

_One: Observation of Formalities_

"You? Again? Must be my unlucky day."

"Trust me, in this scenario I am definitely the unlucky one."

"Unlucky, unbalanced, unhinged...no argument here." (It doesn't matter if their delivery is awkward – they're following the script, that's the important thing).

_Two: Presentation of Problem/Issue_

"Where's my cell phone? And – have you..._done_...anything to it? Wait – don't answer that...I really don't want to know about the horrible, disgusting things you've probably done to it. But if it's been anywhere _near _your toilet – trust me, I will _know! _And I will make you" –

"Want to dial it down a little, Head-Case? Last I checked, it was in my pocket."

"Oh. That's – like something a normal, civilized human being would do." (There's a pause). "...you broke it, didn't you?"

_Three: Resolution of the Problem/Issue_

"Okay, this is the part where you give me whatever is left of my cell phone."

"For the last time, I did not break your cell phone. Which – also for the last time – is still in my pocket." (...and there goes the ante, rocketing skywards).

"Then give it to me!" (...and of course, Casey misses it).

"Make me."

"What?"

(How can she not get this? Phone, pocket, 'come and get it' taunting ...it's not subtle!)

"I am _not _putting my hand in your pants!"

"Then I guess you're going to have to start thinking creatively, because I'm not giving it back."

(It still startles him when her hand reaches out).

_Four: Avoiding the Aftermath_

"So where did you put it?"

"I...can't believe you're asking that question. Okay – boy parts and girl parts...think of them like – a jigsaw" – (only, you know, _fun_)

"Phone! My _cell phone_! Where did you put it?"

"I told you, it's in my pocket."

"I have evidence to the contrary." (She _has_ conducted a thorough and exhaustive investigation)

"Yeah...I never said it was in _those_ pants."

(And here comes the Freak Out, followed by the Talk)

"So..." (okay, they're starting with the Talk. That's fine too). "This...is still...not a big deal, right?"

(He'd ask her to repeat that, but she's talking so slowly it's impossible for him to have misheard)

"Of course not," he agrees (it's not?). "Just one of those things." (Yeah. One of those random occurrences...that require organisation, quick thinking and lots of preparation).

"Yeah. That's...what I thought."

(Funny. _He'd_ kind of thought there'd be a Freak Out, followed by a Talk, resulting in the drawing up of a Relationship Treaty).

(He's totally fine with this though. Surprised. But fine).

* * *

So – most sequels are disappointing. They just can't live up to the hype and anticipation. Usually he ends up outside the movie theatre thinking, "Well, that was a waste of Edwin's money" (unless the special effects are really good).

It's not his fault that '_Derek – Give Me Back My Cell_ _Phone!_' (the follow up to the low-budget-but-crowd-pleasing '_Shut Up'_), delivers on its promise to deliver bigger and better explosions. He was expecting (that's _almost_ the same as 'hoping for', right?) a disappointment. But, actually, the truth is – they've got a _franchise _on their hands. Sequels, prequels, _Return of the Thing, The Thing Strikes Back, The McDonald Menace _(he could go on) – their material is _epic._

And if George Lucas has taught him anything, it's that when life hands you a franchise, you squeeze it until it's dry.

The thing (it's not a _problem_, it's just a...thing), is his co-star. A little persuasion and Casey's there – saying all the lines, doing all her own stunts (and say what you will about the artistic merit of 'Adventures on the Kitchen Table' – Casey turned in an amazingly...flexible performance). But...there's no contract. It's easy come (_easy go_), with no discussion of why 'Derek and Casey' is suddenly an NC-17 rated feature.

No Talk. Not one little 'What does this _mean?_' (he had at least five quality comebacks prepared for that one). No freaking-out, no 'What will our parents think?' Personally, he thinks they should be thrilled – Casey and he have finally discovered a cooperative activity they both enjoy (...yeah, that one's never going to fly).

No, instead, Casey practices selective amnesia.

It's not that it bothers him (it doesn't. Really), but...it's not Casey's style(lessness). Seriously, if there's one thing Casey isn't, it's casual. Casey needs order and structure and definition – if she were an inanimate object, she'd be a label-maker. There is no way she's suddenly okay with them being...whatever they are.

(It's not that he _wants_ a label, but it would come in useful. Purely for the purpose of description).

So Casey-faking-casual (about as well as Casey fakes anything)...is a trap. A trick. A _strategy. _This is Casey, working the game.

Apart from being obvious, it's a really dirty tactic (He should be impressed, right?)

* * *

He opens the door to _Psychology: An Introduction (Second Edition)_. Casey walks in, still reading, and drops onto the couch.

He'll give her points for trying – it looks like she's completely uninterested in his presence. She seems totally absorbed, turning pages and frowning in concentration.

"Okay, I know finding out what's wrong with you is a gigantic task, but did you at least manage to narrow it down?"

Casey's eyes meet his over the top of the book. "Oh, I think I've located the source of the problem."

And see, this is the part he hates. This is Casey's payoff for pretending they aren't...whatever they are (seriously – they've had sex _four times_...is it too much to want a one word definition of what that makes them?). Because every time, he has to ask.

If they were officially 'going out' (as opposed to unofficially 'staying in'), he'd be her boyfriend. He's been a boyfriend before – he knows how it works. His favorite part about being a boyfriend? The part where he doesn't have to get permission (in a roundabout way) before he touches the object of his...touching.

Instead, he has to spend his time thinking up new ways to ask (beg) Casey to let him touch her body – ways that, ideally, don't sound like asking (begging).

"You know, Freud's theory on divisions of the mind is fascinating," Casey says, head bent over her book. "Especially when you know someone who's completely id-driven." She looks up and raises her eyebrows at him for the last part.

Yeah – just because she's basically disguised her insult with a monocle and top hat, doesn't mean he doesn't get it.

"Word of advice?" he offers. "_Don't_ try to analyse me."

"Why? Because you're _so_ complicated?" An un-necessary eye-roll.

(Yeah. And because if he stands any chance of winning this game, he's got to keep her guessing).

...and now he wants a re-take. Because it's just occurred to him that Casey gave him the perfect opening for a line where he offers her some quality couch time to examine his...issues. Smooth (and most importantly, even if it still feels like begging, it probably doesn't sound like it).

He starts looking for a way to Freudian-slip that line into the conversation...and...why does he even need an opening? His stomach is twisting. He hates having to ask. If he has to _ask_, there's always the possibility that the answer will be '_no'_.

But that's being stupid (_four times_. Four times is not nothing). Because it's not like it was in London. It's not like Casey has nowhere else to go. So, what, she just came all the way over to his place – to ignore him? (She can market it however she wants...he's not buying that).

He's calling her bluff.

"So," he says, dropping down next to her on the couch. "You couldn't read at your place?"

She stiffens and tries to edge away.

"Jenna had people over" –

"And she kicked you out? Smart girl. Still, it's kind of funny that, of all the places you could go – you ended up here."

She doesn't say anything, so he leans closer and says, right into her ear, "Come on Casey, we both know why you're here." (He sounds amused, but he just wants her to _admit it already_ so that he can stop digging his fingernails into his palms and let his hands loose on her).

Casey swallows and turns her head slowly (_this is It_) to face him. "You know? They told you?"

"I know. They told" – he agrees before his brain catches up. He pauses. "Who told me what now?"

"George and mom," she says. "For some weird reason they seem to think that you might not be taking college as seriously as you should and" –

"They asked you to check up on me," he realizes. There's suddenly a bitter taste at the back of his throat (this is a _chore _for Casey_?_). "I don't need a babysitter." The words snap out of his mouth.

"No," she says (he hates that smug, Casey-knows-best tone), "You don't _want _a babysitter. That's not the same thing."

He wishes he could move away from her, but he can't – not without making it completely obvious. Instead, he picks up the remote and switches on the television, and stares blindly at it (this is completely what his goal was when he sat down and Casey can't prove otherwise).

He can feel her looking at him (stop it), and he says, "If I promise not to run with scissors or eat paste, will you leave?"

"Derek..." she says, and puts her hand on his arm.

He can't stop himself from looking at her then. She's frowning, pressing her lips together, and he feels a stab of hope when she takes a deep breath and says, "I" –

Of course, that's as far as she gets, because the door is suddenly opening, and Casey practically breaks the sound barrier whipping away her hand before his room-mate walks in.

"Hey Derek – oh, hi, Casey." (He'd remember Casey's name too, if his first introduction involved being knocked to the ground by her as he was arriving through the door).

"Hi Jerry!" she says, way too brightly.

And of course, Jerry joins them, because he doesn't realize what he's interrupting, given that after introducing Jerry's face to the floor, Casey's conversation had gone something like, "I am so sorry! Are you all right?! Casey. I'm Casey. Stepsister – Derek's. Derek's stepsister. Do you need some ice?"

Apparently, this gives him the right to squash in next to Derek and talk through him, to Casey (cause, hey, it's not like he's interrupting a _couple_ or anything, right?)

"You're really getting down to it," he says, leaning forward and talking past Derek (sorry, is his face in the way there?)

Casey starts, and Derek closes his eyes (there is _nothing_ lamer than Casey faking casual) as Jerry gestures towards _Psychology: An Introduction (Second Edition)._ "Studying," he clarifies. "It looks interesting."

That makes Derek narrow his eyes suspiciously. Because – no, it doesn't. It looks like a yawn in hardback form.

Casey falls for it though. "It is! The human mind is fascinating."

"I'll bet!" (says the guy Derek is convinced only has half a brain). "Tell me some more."

Five minutes into the differences between psychology, behavior and mind, and he has to get away (because, hey, it turns out there is something lamer than Casey faking casual – and that's Jerry, faking smart).

He goes to the kitchen and gets a drink and doesn't think about Casey hanging out with him – because his dad and Nora asked her to (babysitting). It's not...he knows the whole sex thing is separate, and has nothing to do with his dad or Nora (though it does put some horrific visuals in his head – thanks, Casey!). Just – he'd thought she was coming by because... (it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter _so much_, he's not going to bother finishing the thought).

When he heads back, it takes less than ten seconds for him to realize that he doesn't like the scene playing out on the couch. It goes something like –

" – should start cracking the books myself. It's just...hard to get motivated, you know what I mean?"

(Of course Casey doesn't know what he means. She was probably born clutching a bibliography for further reading)

" – chose English, because, you know, I speak it – I figured, hey, how hard can it be? And then I start attending the classes and it's like...English, but not as I know it." He grimaces, and continues, "And this thing we're studying...I just – don't get it."

Derek has a bad feeling about where this conversation is going to go. Casey has trouble staying out of things when she's explicitly _told_ to keep out. Someone admitting they need help – that's like handing her a gilt-edged invitation to interfere.

"Oh, what are you studying?" (The clueless keener sitting next to him. Isn't it obvious?)

"It's called uh – _Equus?_" (Yeah, that's not what he called it yesterday)

"That is such a great play! It's really dark and powerful" –

"Yeah –dark. Powerful," Jerry agrees. "If only I could understand it. You...seem really up to speed with the whole thing..."

"Actually..._Equus _is a fascinating psychological study as well. If you want, I could" –

(Okay, this improvisation has gone too far)

"_Equus_?" Derek says thoughtfully (but casually). "Isn't that the book you called 'horse-porn' yesterday?"

(And...cut)

"That's – not...I mean, I didn't – say that...exactly."

"It's okay," Casey says. "I know Derek – it's all about the lowest common denominator with him. Plus he lives to twist other people's words." (Except when those words are already twisted – then he just uses direct quotation!)

(Come on – cut!)

"Well, maybe – I mean, if you're not too busy – maybe you could help me make sense of this whole dark psychological drama?"

(Scene change! Scene change NOW!)

Casey's eyes flick to his then away, so quickly he can't read her expression. "Like...tutor you? Yeah – that would be great! I mean...I could do that. Tutoring. Let me just check my schedule, and we can organize a mutually convenient time!"

(And Derek can use that mutually convenient time to kill himself! Awesome!)

"Um – great!" Jerry says. Casey extracts her day planner and he looks kind of taken aback (though that's nothing compared to how Derek feels. He's the director – he doesn't remember authorizing this).

Afterwards, when she's gone, Jerry trails after Derek and asks, casually, "So, is your stepsister seeing anyone?"

"Casey? Oh yeah," Derek says. (When did this turn into a crappy romantic comedy? And why is he playing the role of the loser-best-friend?)

"Oh. Really? Cause I kind of got the impression" –

"Since highschool," he continues. "I mean, issues like Casey's? They take years to resolve."

"Yeah – I was kind of speaking in a social sense. As in – does she have a boyfriend?"

She doesn't have a boyfriend – and Derek doesn't have a girlfriend. He has a Casey – and trying to make sense of _that_ is like trying to make jello without a mold or container...an impossible mess.

"Don't ask me," he says finally (he's just the guy she sometimes has sex with).

* * *

So, he has this fantasy. It's not exactly original – as a matter of fact it's the kind of fantasy that's so clichéd it comes with a sleazy sax porno soundtrack, but...

She's in a school uniform, and he's wearing a sports coat and tie. She's standing by his desk with a binder clasped to her chest, and he's marking papers (but really, he's making her wait).

Finally, he looks up and says, "Yes?"

"Mr Venturi – can we discuss the grade you gave me on the paper I handed in?"

"Is there a problem?" he leans back in his chair.

"You gave me a B." (Casey's grade might just be the most implausible thing in this whole scenario. And that's saying something).

"And you need to discuss this because..."

"I'm a straight A student."

"Not anymore," he points out.

She bites her lip in thought, and did he mention that her shirt is thin, and he can see –

"Mr Venturi, my grades are really important to me. Maybe, I could...write the paper again?" she smiles winningly at him.

"Maybe I don't want to correct another paper," he says, getting to his feet.

She puts her hand on his chest, to stop him from passing her – and he looks down when she just leaves it there.

"There has to be something...an extra-credit assignment – whatever you want...I'll do it."

Obviously, there's more. There's the part where he lifts her onto the desk, and he slides her pleated skirt up her thighs, and she pulls off his tie with this soft swishing sound – and the sax music cranks up a notch and suddenly, he's teaching Sex 101.

(But the truth is – it's the way she looks at him...intense, totally concentrating – like he's a test she has to ace, like he's a book she's studying...that's what does it for him, every time).


	3. Chapter 3

NOTES: ...alternate title 'The One with the Annoying Seesawing Rating'. Sorry :)

DISCLAIMER: I'm sure it's really obvious, I'm just playing in the LWD sandbox.

* * *

See, when Casey says she wants to 'tutor' Jerry – what she really means is...she wants to force him to sit down and read the stupid play over and over and over – and then discuss 'characterization' and 'themes' and 'the nature of worship'.

(Put it like this – in this tutor-dumbass scenario, the horse is the only one getting lucky).

And Jerry's a busy guy – he's into judo, or taekwondo or something, and he does circuit/circle/circus training too - why should Derek bother remembering the specifics when the _important _thing is that Jerry usually arrives late for his tutoring sessions, or has to leave early. Maybe Jerry's trying on fright wigs, or maybe he's doing squat jumps, or maybe (crazy thought!) he just isn't that interested in discussing a play about some guy who has a thing for My Little Ponies – but Derek doesn't spend a lot of time on it, when the end result is generally him and Casey looking at each other as the door bangs shut.

So, examining it objectively, what the tutoring thing really means, is Casey coming over to his place more often, and Derek not needing to think up excuses for them to bump into each other. Casey tutoring Jerry is...kind of a good thing.

(There are even times when thinking about it doesn't make him want to poke his eyes out with toothpicks).

It's just...Casey wears these outfits that – they're supposed to be casual, but he knows what Casey-not-making-an-effort looks like (and it doesn't look like that). And she brings pages of handwritten notes and doesn't freak out when Jerry doesn't read them. And she participates in these degrading, stomach-turning Hallmark moments –

" – just don't get it," Jerry says, sounding defeated (and, incidentally, using Casey's notes as a coaster). "I guess my sixth grade teacher was right. Some people are just meant to work in McDonalds..."

– or maybe just meant to work _on_ McDonalds, because Casey puts her hand on his arm, and says, "You can't give up. I believe in you!"

(Derek can practically hear the string section swelling... all they need now is matching cable knit sweaters, a puppy and a rainbow to complete the adorable, _emotionally manipulative _picture).

Later, he finds out that it's a true story, that Jerry's sixth grade teacher actually did say that to him (yeah. Okay. No offence, but he'd like to see something – what's that word...oh, yeah, _original_ – in a backstory).

It doesn't really matter. He's (almost) certain it's all just another part of Casey's strategy – make Derek beg, make Derek watch his room-mate flirt with her while they talk about some traumatized guy who likes to blind horses (hey, did that guy catch the flirting too? Because if so, Derek can _totally _relate).

Casey's playing it (yeah, he just can't say 'cool', because things haven't changed that much)...but Casey's totally playing it. The stakes just keep getting higher, and she doesn't even break a sweat.

He never expected her to be so good at this game. He's impressed – the kind of impressed that looks a lot like 'disappointed' to people who don't know any better.

(It's a good thing _he_ knows better)

* * *

So, five minutes before Casey's due, Jerry gets a phone call – the kind that goes –

"Seriously? But why did you try to lift it by yourself?"

(Who cares?)

"That's kind of dumb."

(Well – if there's one thing Jerry is qualified to judge...)

"No, don't worry about it – I'll be right over."

(...and now _here's_ a plot contrivance Derek can totally get behind)

He hangs up, then turns to Derek. "I have to go...move an armoire," he says. "I'm probably going to be a while...Can you tell Casey I'm sorry, and that I'll reschedule?"

(From the relieved look on his face, Derek's guessing Jerry didn't have time to read Casey's notes on 'the freedom of the individual versus the wider societal need for conformity')

"Sure," Derek says. "I'll tell her." (Eventually)

Of course, when Casey shows up (lugging her _Big Book of Headshrinkery_), she immediately makes for the couch, and shushes him every time he tries to say something.

"I don't have time for this, Derek," she says (again), turning pages faster and faster. She's jiggling her foot as well. "In case you've forgotten, I have to give an oral presentation tomorrow."

"How can I forget –when you keep bringing it up?"

"If you stopped trying to distract me, I wouldn't have to remind you!"

He flicks another ball of crumpled up paper at her. "I'm not distracting you – I'm helping you...maintain your focus."

She glares at him for a second (success!), but almost immediately returns to her book. "If you're bored" –

"Watching you become one with the couch isn't boring," he objects. "It's more...mind-numbingly dull."

"– then why don't you go to your room, and play with your toys?" she continues, before frowning and making a note in the margin of her book. Like – end of conversation, 'we're done'.

...and it's possible he hates this even more than the begging (not really, but it's a close second). Because Casey's always been a princess...but Derek never expected to be the Prince. That probably sounds like a 'break out the fluffy kittens and pass Grandma's home-made cookies' sentiment. It's really not.

See – Casey doesn't make him feel like _a_ prince. She makes him feel like _the _Prince – the one still depreciating in their garage at home. Yeah, sure, the key's in the ignition and Casey's riding in the passenger seat – but she's also ducking down every time she sees someone she knows. The Prince is no-one's dream ride (he's not bringing his dad into this metaphor, because that's just _creepy_). The Prince is just a way of getting (slowly) from A to B.

She checks her watch. "You're sure Jerry didn't mention anything about being late?"

"No." (Now – if she'd asked whether he'd cancelled...)

All she has to say, if Jerry's flirting bugs her, is that she has a boyfriend. But she doesn't. And that makes him think that maybe Casey's looking to trade up. She's looking for a guy with alloy wheels, subwoofers...a bigger engine... (_not_ that there's anything wrong with _Derek's_ engine. His engine is turbocharged and his mileage is _excellent_ – if he does say so himself). But girls (and especially Casey) are pretty clueless when it comes to that stuff – they think if it's not the _exact_ shade of aquamarine they want...then it's not the right car.

She sighs. "If he doesn't come soon..."

"You'll what – jitter yourself to death?"

The way he has to look at it is...the Prince isn't _old_ (okay, yeah, it totally is). But 'old' is just another word for 'vintage'. And vintage is – hot. Girls dig vintage. Casey just hasn't figured out that she's got a classic on her hands. Derek's working on enlightening her though (who said Casey was the only one with a strategy?).

"Would it kill you to be nice?" she begins – only to be cut off by his cell phone.

(And that would be his strategy on the other end of the line). How better to enlighten Casey than by giving her the opinion of some...car enthusiasts? There are plenty of girls interested in popping his hood (or at least exchanging phone numbers). And if the Automobile Appreciation Association happen to call during tutoring sessions (and it's funny how often they do)...well, it's his place too.

"Hey, Jodi!" he says (and look at that – Casey's head snaps right up).

"...it's Jamie."

"Of – course it is," he agrees (he really hopes she doesn't hang up on him). Casey looks down at her book again, and he watches the tapping of her pen against the page while Jamie (or was it Jodi?) says...something.

"...cafeteria, remember? Anyway...were saying...interested...screening...tonight...think?"

Casey has to know he's looking at her – her pen is moving at hummingbird speed. But she keeps her eyes glued to the page in front of her.

"Can I get back to you on that?" he asks. "Great! Talk to you soon," he continues without waiting for an answer – and disconnects.

"Let me guess – a member of your fan club?" she asks, without looking up.

(More like a former member, but he's not going to quibble).

"So many groupies, so little time," he says (it's amazing how Casey-chasing just eats into his schedule).

She looks at him with this disgusted expression on her face (he feels a faux-feminist lecture coming on) – then shakes her head, and checks her watch again. "I...should go. Can you tell Jerry I'll call?"

"You're leaving?" his voice blurts without permission from his brain. But seriously – he's handing her the perfect set-up for a confrontation-during-which-truths (and by truths, he means 'secret relationships') -are-brought-into-the-light...and she's not going to take it?

"...is that a problem?" she asks slowly.

His lead actress can't take a cue (..._or she doesn't want to_) – yeah, that's a problem. He keeps giving her all these opportunities to talk (and if this wasn't, you know – _Casey_, he'd be wondering if maybe she's got nothing to say).

In response, he slides off his chair, and kneels in front of her, heart kicking into overdrive. Because there's probably some karmic punishment for wasting a set-up like this (and arguing with Casey takes up enough of his time – he doesn't need to start arguing with karma as well).

"What are you" –

"You're going...without testing your theory?" he says. (She's wearing a skirt – at least the costume department got the memo).

"Theory?" she sounds completely bewildered.

"Would it kill me to do something nice?" he reminds her. He slides his hands gradually up her legs until his palms are on her knees. "Don't you want to find out?"

Casey swallows. "What are you doing?"

"Something nice?" he offers hopefully (and shouldn't Casey be encouraging this kind of considerate, selfless behavior?). Without taking his eyes from hers, he pushes, just a little. But there's no give in her knees.

"What's in it for you?" she asks, and crosses her arms over her chest (if she didn't sound breathless, he'd be worried). "You don't do 'nice'. Not without an ulterior motive."

"Yeah – I also don't randomly reveal my evil plans. If you want to find out what's in it for me, I guess you're just going to have to...play along." His hands creep higher, until he can slip his fingers just under the hem of her skirt and he can't help it, he grins up at her (he's dizzy with this – crazy – _stupid _with this feeling)...

She looks at him for a long moment, then "– can't," she says, pushing her hair behind her ears, with a weirdly jerky movement.

For a full five seconds, he actually believes she's kicked him in the stomach, and he can't figure out why he's not doubled over.

"– I should go over – my oral presentation," she says, concentrating fiercely on gathering up her pen and book.

(What about _his _oral presentation?)

"– really need to...it's important," she says, carefully avoiding his eyes.

(Oh, well, if it's _important..._). He gets to his feet because he can't stand being on the floor in front of her any more.

"I have to go," she says again, just standing there (and what's she waiting for?).

"...um...so, I should..." she gestures towards the door (he's not going to stop her).

As she brushes past him, he says, "You know, I never would have believed it..." (okay, one last effort – just to be polite).

She turns. "What?"

"I mean, you've got me" – (on his knees) – "at your mercy – your wish, my command...the whole deal. And you're just walking out on this once in a lifetime opportunity?" (He's shooting for careless amusement here – because this is just _so funny_ and completely not humiliating _at all_)

There's a long pause, and he tries not to blink under Casey's gaze. Her fingers are white against the spine of her book. Finally, slowly, as if the words are being dragged out of her, she says, "That's...you – could have a point."

Yeah – he's got Casey's number, and however she may or may not feel about Jerry (who, by the way, is the human equivalent of a monster truck – totally not her type), the one thing she can't resist? Is an opportunity to call the shots in the Derek-and-Casey game.

"Yeah," he says, then checks his watch (look who's on a tight schedule now), "But it was a limited time offer, and it looks like...huh – your time just ran out." He shrugs and offers her a fake sympathetic smile (he has this little thing called 'self-respect' that means he can't make it too easy for her).

She looks at him for a second, assessing – then she spins on her heel, and heads for the door.

"Of course," he says quickly (would it kill her to be the one asking? For once?), "– I could be persuaded to...extend my offer."

She turns around.

* * *

Afterwards, she's half-asleep, face down on his pillow, while he traces pictures on her bare back. It's warm and soft and (...it could be like this). His fingertips keep drawing Ds and Vs – invisible, but swirling their way across all the skin he can reach.

"Nnn," she mumbles eventually, protesting.

"You ever think about getting a tattoo?" he asks suddenly, sliding a finger down her spine.

That makes her turn her head and squint at him. "Why? Is that what you're into, these days?" she asks.

(Yeah, he could go for indelible ink on Casey)

"– Let me guess – one of your groupies has inspired a fetish" – (yes, all those imaginary tattooed women he's been fictionally dating have really been a bad influence on him).

"I wouldn't call it a fetish," he protests (it's probably wrong to feel reassured that she's jealous. But he can live with that).

"Well – I think tattoos are tacky," she finishes, with a 'so there!' tone in her voice.

She probably thinks he'd want her to get something really obvious...like a big 'property of Derek Venturi' on her lower back – and yeah, that has its attractions, but honestly, he'd be just as happy with a discreet 'reserved' sign on her hip (he can do subtle).

...And then Casey's moving, pushing off the sheets and grabbing her clothes (...apparently he can't do pillow talk).

And maybe it is just totally a physical thing for Casey (– and for him too. Mostly). That's okay. Totally unorthodox (for Casey), but – he can do that.

He just has to make sure the physical stuff is so good she won't ever say no.


	4. Chapter 4

NOTES: This chapter's a weird one for me. I'm undecided on it, and I can't figure out whether it's because it really didn't turn out how I'd planned, or whether it's just because I'm looking for an excuse to delay writing the next bit. I hope it's okay - but comments and criticisms are always welcome. (And thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed - it's much appreciated)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything LWD. (Also, I should probably take a minute to disclaim ownership of Peter Shaffer's 'Equus'...in case it wasn't obvious - that's also totally not mine)

* * *

The real thing beats fantasy every time, right? That's why actually eating a bag of chips is a million times better than imagining eating a bag of chips. Reality equals better than fantasy. It's a pretty straightforward equation (Derek's favorite kind) – no working out required.

By that token, the fact that he's having actual sex with Casey means that he doesn't need to fantasize about having sex with her. Except (like everything involving Casey), the situation follows Casey illogic and these days? Derek's brain is a regular pornutopia. He can't (doesn't want to) figure it out.

So in this fantasy, he's sitting in a director's chair and Casey's reciting lines up on the stage. And right in the middle of her speech, he says, loudly, "Okay – I've seen enough."

Casey stops dead. He probably shouldn't enjoy the surprised (disappointed) look on her face so much.

"No," she protests. "Please – just let me finish...I've worked really hard on this!"

"I'm sure you have," he says (and he's looking at the clock), "But I'm going to be honest here. I'm not feeling it."

She goes completely still for a second, before trying again (because when has Casey ever let people's complete disinterest affect her behavior?). "If you let me finish, I'm sure you'll" –

"Yeah – you're not the only person auditioning," he says, "And like I said, I'm not feeling it."

She stares at him for a long moment – then promises, "I'll make you feel it." Her voice is serious, determined (and _bam_, she has him – just like that).

Then she's swinging herself off the stage, and standing in front of him. "What are you looking for?" she asks softly.

He takes a long look at her (what happens next is a foregone conclusion – he's just enjoying the anticipation, stringing out the moment).

Finally, he says, "See – this movie? It's all about...the nature of worship." (Yeah it's pretentious, but the payoff's worth it). "I'm just...not seeing it in your performance."

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough," she leans closer, and her hands are on the armrests of his chair, boxing him in. "Because I definitely understand worship." (It's not subtle, but her delivery packs a punch).

She bends down and kisses his jaw, under his ear, his neck. Soft and slow and bone-meltingly good. His hands come up, involuntarily, but she catches them in hers.

"The nature of worship," she reminds him. She runs her thumbs over the backs of his hands, then folds his fingers closed, and lets go. She slides to her knees in front of him, and heat licks up his chest even before she touches him, just at the sight of her. And then her hands stroke up his thighs, and her fingers are unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping him, and her mouth –

Maybe it's the casting couch talking – but yeah, this time, he feels it.

* * *

And then, just when Derek thinks he's getting some kind of handle on their particular brand of weird and dysfunctional (now with added nakedness) – the tutoring sessions switch to Casey's place.

"She said something about...something. I didn't really get it, to be honest," Jerry offers unhelpfully, when Derek asks him (in a very casual way) about it. "I don't know if you've noticed, but your stepsister talks kind of fast."

He's not _worried_ about it though. Casey's rooming with three other girls (and she has to share a bedroom) so Jerry can splash on all the cologne he wants, it's not going to make any difference. And there's probably some legitimate reason for Casey to – completely wreck the Casey-and-Derek dynamic he'd just worked out (appreciated, Case!).

Okay, so the only reason he can think of is work – because it's totally inconceivable that she could have gotten...bored...with him (right?). Casey reads poetry and keeps a daily journal of her thoughts and feelings – she obviously has a really high boredom threshold (plus, he's totally a one man party. Bring a hat). So he never even considers that reason (...for more than a second. At most).

In the end, he does what anyone would do in his situation. Waits a couple of days – then gives in and cleans his room really thoroughly.

The next step in this process involves showing up at her door and not knocking for an embarrassing length of time – then turning around to find a girl in a tracksuit staring at him, hands on her hips. (Just to set the scene, he doesn't yelp in surprise).

"Hi – do you want something, or are you just admiring our – admittedly kickass – veneer?"

"Hi," he manages. "– I'm Derek." He waits for the familiar '_that's_ Derek?' look that appears whenever he's introduced to one of Casey's friends. And waits. (Doesn't she _know_ who he is?)

"Casey...might have mentioned me?" he offers. (Stepbrother? Bane of her existence? Nemesis? Ringing any bells?)

She shrugs.

(Oh)

"So – it's Casey you're looking for?" she asks, pushing past him and opening the door. She doesn't wait for an answer, just calls, "Case! Some guy here to see you!"

(_Some guy? _He's not _some guy_. He's Der-ek!)

He peers around the girl to see Casey scurrying out of what he guesses is the kitchen – since she has a ladle in her hand. She stops when she sees him.

"Derek! What are you doing here?"

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Casey's eyes widen, and she springs into action, hustling past the girl at the door, and saying, "Or, why don't you – not answer that, and we can talk outside!"

She pulls the door shut and turns to face him – and wow...it kind of hits him right at that moment just how embarrassing this is going to be (he's Derek and he'll be your loser tonight. Enjoy the show!)

"Well?" she asks, then tries to cross her arms – it doesn't really work with the ladle, and she ends up dropping her arms to her sides.

"I found this," he says, and holds out his hand. She looks down and blinks.

"It's a scrunchie," she says blankly (and he found it under his bed – he knows what it is). "You...came here to...return my scrunchie?"

(She doesn't have to sound so surprised. It's a completely normal thing to do)

"It's not like I'm going to use it," he shrugs. (The weird thing would be if he had kept it).

"And I'm sure it was just taking up so much space..." She keeps staring at his palm.

"I found a piece of your crap – I decided to return it...which by the way, I'm kind of regretting now – are you going to take it, or do I dump it in a random trash can as I leave?" (Because he's a busy guy – he has things to do, people to see...maybe he's got other scrunchies to return).

"No – that's...um, thank you. For returning...my scrunchie." He wishes she'd stop saying scrunchie in that weird way, with the uplift at the end (the word 'scrunchie' is more than stupid enough as it stands).

"Okay, so..." he gestures impatiently with the scrunchie-holding hand. Slowly, she reaches out and takes it. Her fingers brush across his palm quickly, and then he's scrunchie-less (mission accomplished, because it's not like he had any other reason for doing this).

"That's it?" she says, pushing the scrunchie up onto her wrist.

(That's it. Completely it. He had no further expectations).

"Just...usually you want some kind of reward when you act in a vaguely...human manner." She twirls the stupid scrunchie round and round on her wrist (seriously, the thing deserves star billing in this feature. It's definitely got the best lines).

She looks at him expectantly.

He blinks. What are they talking about? "...Do you want – to reward me?" (...this? _This_ is the script he's going with?).

"Well – how else are you going to learn?" she asks eventually, tilting her chin up and looking directly at him.

(Yeah, that's...what?)

Casey takes a step closer and kisses him, and that's –

"...That's it?" he asks, as she moves back.

"It was a scrunchie," she says. "What were you expecting – a trophy?"

(If 'trophy' is a metaphor for pulling her closer and kissing her properly while her arms go around him and the ladle digs into his back...)

He's really not into the whole PDA thing – but it hits him, as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of her jeans – how they would look to someone walking past. Just a normal couple (...and their ladle).

For some bizarre reason, it makes him hug her tighter and mumble into her hair, "So...let's say you were giving me a trophy...what would it say?" He closes his eyes (and hopes for something that he can translate into 'Most Valuable Player').

And then suddenly Casey's all angles and elbows in his arms (and he doesn't get this, how girls can go from sixty to zero – just like that) – before she pulls away entirely.

"Pasta!"

(...does Casey think that's a sports term?)

"I should make sure the pasta hasn't boiled over," she says, brandishing her ladle. Okay, now he gets it.

"You're" –

"Having a girls' night in," she interrupts, voice loud and bright.

"My favorite kind." (He doesn't think there's anything in the refrigerator at his place. That's all).

It doesn't matter anyway, because she doesn't ask him to stay.

* * *

The thing is – this one time, he was doing the quality weekend bonding thing with his mom. And – not that there wasn't some quality bonding going down...but it was – kind of like the last bonding sesh. And the one before that. (Not that said bonding sessions weren't all special. And different. Just – special and different like...identical twins).

The point is, she asked about his week (and he gave her an appropriately edited 'Greatest Hits' reel), he asked about her week – and she gave him the usual 'Stress! Study! Sea-Urchins!' thing (he loves his mom – but seriously, she needs a better editor). Afterwards, he remembers that she put more emphasis on the stress part – and that she told the same story twice. But at the time...

Anyway, they'd finished their meal, and he waited in the car while his mom paid. He still had his drink and as he fiddled with her radio settings (classical? Really, he was just ensuring she didn't fall asleep at the wheel), he ended up spilling soda on his pants. So he opened the glove compartment in search of some tissues. And all these candy wrappers fell out. Like, a lot – even to him (and he'd never met an additive he didn't like).

And it wasn't (it _really wasn't_) a lifetime movie kind of moment, with the ominous life-would-never-be-the-same music. It was just...kind of embarrassing – and not for him. And...his mom was probably stressed out enough. So he shoved all the wrappers back into the glove compartment and didn't say anything.

And that's what it's like with Casey. He can't shake the feeling he's the junk in her glove compartment. A bad habit she doesn't want anyone to know about, a momentary lapse in standards.

So, he decides. It's her move now. If Casey wants him – well, she knows where he is.

(Additives are addictive, right?)

* * *

Of course, two nights later, he's standing outside Casey's door again. But this time, it's got nothing to do with him. This time it's all down to Jerry, who insisted (and he's _huge, _so his insistence is pretty...insistent) on veering towards Casey's place in spite of it being really late and –

"It's not late – it's early," Jerry reasons cheerfully. Random onlookers would probably put this stupidity down to alcohol (when alcohol is just the backseat passenger, and stupidity is the one parking the car).

He knocks loudly, and keeps knocking until there's the sound of a window opening, and low murmuring. Then Casey's voice hisses –

"What is going on?!"

And then, just when Derek thinks it can't get any better, Jerry starts quoting. "What light thru longer yindow barks?" he says, and Derek can't help it, he laughs.

"Jerry?! Derek?! What are you...wait there!" she closes the window, and seconds later, she unlocks the door. She stands there, glaring, in very pink pajamas.

"Tell him to keep it down!" someone calls from behind her, but she doesn't turn around.

"Double-gum double-gum, pleasure your fun," Jerry tries (yeah, Derek doesn't know).

"What are you doing? It's two in the morning!" she whispers. "Derek – what did you do to him?"

"Nothing to do with me," he defends (hey, the damage began with whoever dropped Jerry on the head as a child). Casey shoots him a disbelieving glance.

"Casey," Jerry has this big dumb smile on his face, "You are really good." He turns to Derek. "Your stepsister is very good," he tells him. Derek fights the urge to describe in detail just how good Casey is – and exactly how little (read nothing) that has to do with Jerry – who continues, in gloppy, half-incoherent detail –

" – and you know, helping me, and – like, all the notes...you must buy lots of pens. And paper" –

"That's really sweet – I think," Casey says quickly. "But, you know – we were sleeping...and it's kind of late, so maybe you could come back another" –

"So what do you say?" Jerry continues, ignoring her.

"What?"

"Will you go out with me?"

Okay, under normal circumstances, Derek might (_might_) own up to being a little concerned. But – it's two in the morning, Casey's wearing pink pajamas, and Jerry just asked her out in between spouting what Derek can only assume are tongue-twisters. There is no part of this that is not funny. He considerately provides the laugh track, but Casey narrows her eyes at him.

(And here comes the brush off)

"Jerry," Casey says kindly, "I'm very flattered but" –

"No – no no no," Jerry interrupts, shaking his head. "You don't get it."

"I mean, you're a great guy, really. A really great guy" – (Can he fast-forward through this bit?).

"Good!" Jerry says, "Because, Casey...Casey, Casey, Casey – you are just..." he trails off and shakes his head. "I am just – whoosh – falling. You know. For you."

(_He's _falling for her? Hello – Derek's practically a splat on the sidewalk)

"You...are?" Casey says, and something in her face softens, and this whole thing takes an abrupt left turn into Not Fun territory (he can practically hear the screech of the gears). His smile is frozen on his face, and he can just feel where this is heading – because suddenly, Casey has this look like she's been waiting for a drunk guy to stumble to her door all her life, and all Derek can do is hope –

"Thats..."

(Come on, Casey)

"That's..."

(Because it's such a stupid cliché)

She looks at him, this brief, darting glance – there's just a second of connection before she looks away again.

(Hold out for an original plot-device! This one has 'Property of Kate...Whatshername' written all over it!)

"Okay," she says, in this soft voice. "I'll go out with you."

(Question: are romantic comedies supposed to induce this kind of gut-clenching revulsion?)


	5. Chapter 5

NOTES: Once again, I have to say thank you so much to all who reviewed. Majorly appreciated :-)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own LWD. Done for fun, not profit.

* * *

Here's something he's never going to admit to (well, something he's going to add to the ever-growing list) – he expects better from Casey. Because, yeah, dating his room-mate...plenty of potential for horrible, soul searing, gut-wrenching – annoyance (he's not really in touch with his feelings – he doesn't even send a card at Christmas. How is he supposed to know _exactly_ what emotion he's experiencing?).

But...

One thing about Casey – she's always coming up with new and inventive ways to mess up his life. So what's with the recycled plotline? They've done this before – with...hmm, what was his name? Oh, yeah – _Sam. _So why the retread? It's lazy and derivative – Casey's got to have another angle (other than actually...liking...Jerry, because that's – so stupid that the only way to describe it is...stupid).

So, really, he's kind of expecting her text.

* * *

When he gets to the cafe, Casey's already there, surrounded by brightly coloured boxes of herbal teas, deep in discussion with a stunned looking waitress.

" –really don't think you need an 'invigorating' or an 'enlivening' blend," the waitress says as he approaches. She grabs hold of two boxes. "If you want anything else, you can just...call him!" she gestures to another waiter, before walking away.

"Way to make friends and influence people, Case," he says, sliding onto the chair opposite hers and giving her a thumbs up.

She stares at him.

He stares at her.

"So!" she says finally, in a loud, bright tone that makes him flinch (because, ow – eardrums). She stares some more. "I thought we – should talk," she continues in a softer tone.

And normal levels of Casey-ness have been resumed. (_Finally!_). It's not that he's stoked to be having the Big Relationship Talk (...because he's totally, _totally_...not). Just – trying to conduct a relationship _without_ the Big Relationship Talk? Surprisingly complicated. So he leans forward, and tries to make a 'go on' gesture that doesn't knock over any of the boxes on the table.

"Tea!" Casey exclaims, suddenly swinging back to loud-and-cheery, and making him jerk backwards in surprise. "Do you want tea?"

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Oh yeah. My favorite's the lemon-and-have-you-ever-met-me flavor. Tangy."

She blinks and starts rooting through the boxes. "There's revitalizing cherry and Madagascan cinnamon – or energizing blackcurrant, ginseng and Tahitian vanilla...oooh! You have to try the Egyptian chamomile and apple – it's really soothing!"

(Is 'soothing' another way of saying 'tastes like perfumed dirt'?). Casey dumps a tea-bag in a cup and pours hot water over it. She pushes it towards him. "Now, you just wait and let it infuse."

They're sitting, watching a cup. Yeah, this is probably Casey's idea of a rockin' date (they're out, in public, just the two of them. That counts as a date, right?). See – it's stuff like this that just shows how desperately she needs him. He's going to think of it as a mission – normalize Casey...and provide hope to the socially challenged everywhere. Of course, it's probably going to be time-consuming – and involve a lot more dates... (but that's just the kind of guy he is. Thorough).

She begins, "So...Jerry" –

His response is immediate. "Braindead future alcoholic." (Because wow. Way to harsh the date-buzz).

She blinks.

"Oh," he says slowly. "We're _not_ playing a word association game." (Suddenly, he misses the cup-watching portion of the date).

"It's just...I told him that I would go out with him. Last night."

(Okay...it's not where he would have started the Relationship Talk, but it's Casey – he's not going to jump to conclusions).

"Thanks for the recap, but I was there. I remember what happened."

"And I...wanted to make sure – that you were okay. With it."

Is Casey...asking for his permission to go out with his room-mate? This is officially the weirdest almost-relationship ever. (...and he's starting to think that this – might not be a date).

"Am I okay with it?" he repeats. (Oh yeah, he's _totally _cool with this – why wouldn't he be down with passing around his sort-of girlfriend like a bag of chips?). "Oh, I'm _peachy_."

"That's...good," she says. (It is? Okay, somehow she seems to have missed the giant irony bar he just clubbed her over the head with). "I...I didn't know if you would be. Okay with it," she carefully moves her cup around in little circles.

"Why wouldn't I be okay with it?" he asks. (There's nothing he likes better than seeing his sort-of girlfriend and some random guy getting cosy. It's wrist-slittingly fun!).

"It just – seemed like maybe you might have a problem with it," she says. "And I thought – you know – if there were feelings...we should deal with them. Because – it wouldn't be fair. To Jerry."

(Yeah – the idea of hurting Jerry _does_ keep him up at night).

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to lose Jerry over this. He's a real gem." (Well, he's as dumb as a rock, anyway).

Casey looks at him. "He's a nice guy," she says, very quiet. "And...he likes me."

(So? Jerry likes lots of things – it's not a compliment. It just means he's easy to please).

"Well that's just – great. I've been rooting for you two." (...to hate each other and call off the tutoring sessions).

Casey takes a deep breath. "...okay. I'm – glad to hear that. Glad," she repeats, and clinks her teaspoon on her cup.

Great. He's happy he can reassure her. (He doesn't remember 'happy' feeling like he's been set on fire, but that probably just means he's _super-happy_. Or something).

Another deep breath. "That's – well, now that that's settled...I think that we should talk about..." she trails off and her hands shape an explosion in the air, "...not – doing _that_ anymore."

"We should stop making stupid hand gestures?"

She glares – and he gets it.

This is in no way a Big Relationship Talk. This is the opposite of a Big Relationship Talk. This is a De-lationship Talk.

_Casey's breaking up with him._

...How does that even work – considering they were _never dating_ in the first place? (And yeah, that's the important thing to focus on, right there).

She's looking at him expectantly. "I mean – it wouldn't be fair. To Jerry."

(She hasn't even been out on a date with this guy – and she's already dumping Derek for him? Jerry wouldn't even change his stupid taekwondo practice time for her)

"And – it's...not like it was – important. Or anything, right?"

(Is it possible that he accidentally spilled boiling water on himself without realizing? Because it feels like all the skin on his chest has been burnt away).

She looks at him. "You – don't have a problem with that...do you?" (Other than the searing and blistering, she means?)

It hits him then. He's never going to get to touch her body again.

She picks up her cup, and he watches the curl of her fingers around the handle (off limits), and the quick rise and fall of her chest as she breathes (not allowed), and her hair falling in front of her face (never again).

She looks up again, looks right at him, waiting for his answer and he squeezes out, "Great," (because there's no way he's going to let her know – not now that she's dreaming about a hook up with Dumb and Dumbest – that she had a handful of aces, and he was bluffing his way on a couple of twos).

"I was looking to free up my schedule, anyway," he continues. Her gaze skitters away from his and he has a momentary urge to apologize. Which is crazy, because Casey lured him here under false pretences (whoever heard of a break-up date?), and made him feel – feelings and...

He scrapes back his chair and gets to his feet.

"You're just leaving? But...we haven't even really talked about...anything."

(What other good news could she possibly need to share with him? Does he have six months to live?).

"I don't want to waste all the free time I suddenly have – talking."

When she looks at him again, she has a familiar expression of disgusted disappointment on her face. "Can't you be" –

"Nice?" he finishes for her, and watches her go red as she remembers. "I thought we figured out the answer was – not without proper motivation."

"_Mature_. Can't you be mature about this?" she emphasizes.

He's got news for Casey. This _is_ mature. Immature would be him doing what he really wants to do – which is to crawl under the table and throw a tantrum of _Marti _proportions.

Instead, he manages a smile – well, he clenches his teeth (it still counts), and says something about needing to hold auditions to fill the sudden empty slot in his schedule. And then he walks out.

(Yeah – he can't be a good loser even when the game _isn't_ important – so what are the chances here?).

* * *

There isn't a male code. And there isn't a male rulebook. But if there were – it would state that post-dumping, guys do not mope. There are other fish in the sea – but more importantly, there are other women (in bikinis) on the beach. So, there's no need to mope.

It would be simple, if only Derek's last catch would stop flopping around in his line of vision.

Because it's not like Casey is special, or different (okay, he has used those words to describe her – but he also put finger-quotes around them, so...that doesn't count). But she's always there. And yeah, okay, Jerry gets Casey – but Derek has Lynda, and Sarah, and Suzanne (or Suzette) and Julie (or was it Jodi?), so it should be a more than fair trade.

And it is. It really, really is. But...

The only explanation he has – is that the sheer weirdness of wanting Casey...broke his brain.

Because he doesn't follow the (granted, hypothetical) guy handbook, and move on. It's not for want of trying. Just – it's like Nora's cooking. His brain has jumbled together two very different things (in this case, the concepts 'sex' and 'Casey'), to make a crazy omelette, and now, there's no unscrambling them. Now, he sees Casey, and his body goes straight into horizontal mode.

(He might get over it if Casey didn't still show up at his place, looking like – herself. It's kind of inconsiderate).

So, yes, there are these other girls, but their defining characteristic is their not-Caseyness (okay, that's always been a defining characteristic of the girls he dates, but now? It's no longer a plus). And he's trying to balance two conflicting impulses –

1) Get over Casey. Or, in the event of not being over her (yet) – to at least make it look like he is. This involves not hanging around his and Jerry's place like a total loser who doesn't have a social life.

2) Never leave Jerry and Casey alone with access to any horizontal surfaces.

He ends up compromising. He goes out on a few dates that end abruptly (...an odd coincidence) – hangs out at his place with one or two (or three) girls, and mostly, ends up taking a lot of phone calls while Jerry mouths things like, "Say hi to her from us!" and gives him the thumbs up, and Casey makes repulsed faces.

If he's honest with himself – it's beyond lame.

(Good thing honesty's never been his policy).

* * *

And then – just at the point where he doesn't think it can get any more skin-rippingly terrific...he gets ambushed.

"Can I ask you something?" Jerry asks, then continues without waiting for his answer (which is 'No'), "Casey...has she ever had a boyfriend before?"

Derek swallows the bite of sandwich he's been chewing. "No, you can't ask me something," he says in alarm.

"Because...it's just – I mean, she's great. I really like her and everything" –

He hopes desperately that this isn't going where he thinks it's going, and wishes fervently for sudden deafness.

" – want to go slow, too. Well, not 'want to' so much as" –

"Okay!" Derek jerks both hands in front of Jerry's face. He re-swallows his sandwich and says, very calmly (though at a higher pitch than normal), "Okay – you're _not_ discussing your and my stepsister's sex-life with me. Her _stepbrother_," he emphasizes. Because surely even Jerry knows that this is a no-go area. Even when stepbrothers are not their stepsisters' sort-of ex-boyfriends (it can't be that uncommon a situation, right?).

"No – of course not!" Jerry denies immediately, and Derek closes his eyes with relief (Jerry's a big guy and being smushed by him would kind of cramp Derek's whole life).

"I'm talking about our lack of a sex life. There's a difference. A big difference," he says darkly.

Derek wonders whether puking on Jerry's shoes would count as a declaration of hostilities. (No real reason, just his stomach is trying to crawl up his throat).

" – and I mean – I get what she's saying. Mostly. Sometimes."

The thing is, there's probably something he could do or say to stop this (stop fighting down the queasy feeling in his stomach, walk out, wave something shiny in front of Jerry's face), but he doesn't.

" – like I said, wants to take it slow. Which is – okay, you know" –

Okay, part of it could be the fact that he's kind of frozen in shock (seriously, did nobody ever tell Jerry the basic rules of human interaction? It's just – wrong to talk about your sex life to your girlfriend's...whatever Derek is).

But probably he doesn't interrupt (or start searching for anything shiny) because there's a part of him that wants (doesn't want. Wants. Doesn't want. Needs) to _know_.

" – and she doesn't want it to be meaningless sex, which is – fine" –

For a second, Derek thinks his wish for sudden deafness has been granted, because Jerry's mouth is still moving, but he can't hear a word.

'Meaningless sex.' Sex with him was meaningless? Funny – he'd thought it was pretty significant...while all this time, for Casey, it was the equivalent of Marti scribbling on the walls (he can't hear the canned laughter either, but he can _feel_ it).

When the sound returns to his world, he hears Jerry saying, "– but there's slow, and there's like – _glacial._"

"Yeah, well, it's Casey," Derek points out. "If you can't stand the cold, get out of the freezer. My advice? Get used to living in the ice-age."

(Or break up with her. That would also work).

* * *

So, good news – Casey and Jerry didn't have a sex life. Bad news – it might be because Jerry mattered more than he did. If it was Derek, he'd be sleeping with the person that mattered, but then, this was Casey, Queen of Illogic.

It's not his problem (anymore). Casey's busy not having sex with Jerry, and he knows a bunch of girls who don't require an essay on man's inhumanity to man to grade his kissing as acceptable. So it all works out, pretty much.

Except...it's still there, in the back of his mind – poking him occasionally (more occasionally than he would like, actually). Because – Casey's pinning her hopes for 'meaningful' on...Jerry? The guy who thought it was a good idea to discuss his and Casey's sex(less) life with Derek? Either Derek's missing something fundamental about Jerry (and if that's the case, Derek suspects Jerry hasn't discovered it either), or – 'meaningful' doesn't mean what he thinks it means.

The thing is – he'd kind of thought that sex came with a built-in meaning – no translation required (that's what it had felt like to him, at least – but his impressions aren't the most reliable when there's nakedness and touching involved, so...). Anyway, he'd kind of assumed that the meaningfulness just kind of...happened naturally for girls.

So...if it didn't happen for Casey...then maybe the sex wasn't (and he can't believe he's even thinking this) – good.

Like he said, he doesn't think about it all the time (he gets a solid seven/eight hour stretch every night where he doesn't think about it at all. Granted, he's asleep at this time...), but it niggles at him every so often.

One 'every so often' happens when he's in the bathroom of this girl's house. It's clean enough to meet even Casey's standards and there's purple soap in the dispenser. But that's not what makes him stop.

There's this wicker basket full of girl's magazines by the bath – the usual 'Get perfect hair/let's pretend you can look like this celebrity on our cover/eat your way to thinness/and buy more shoes!' eye-rollingly boring schtick. But while the magazine on top does promise '_240 Fabulous Bargain Buys'_ and a '_Guide to Fall Fashion'_, it also blares '_Seven Things You Wish He Knew About Sex_.' (It's...eye-catching).

See, the thing is...he didn't realize that Casey wasn't grading him on a curve (though, really, he should have (because since when has Casey ever cut him some slack?). If he had known, then...maybe he could have done things differently.

And it's not fair – it's so unfair that Casey marked him down like that, without saying anything – without even giving him a chance to...

Suddenly determined, he reaches out and takes hold of the magazine. He finds the pages the cover line meant, and tears them out.

Hey, it's not like he woke up one morning and was magically good at hockey. It took time, and effort, and practice. (Why should this be any different?).

He folds the pages up small and stuffs them into his jeans.

Yeah, Casey said it was over – but the credits aren't rolling yet.


	6. Chapter 6

NOTES: -runs away- (Dunno whether to apologize for this one or not. I have a major exam tomorrow and I did this to stop myself from exploding with stress. I have no concept of anything anymore)

DISCLAIMER: Oh, LWD is so totally not mine.

* * *

It's not like asking to re-write a paper – though maybe that's not the best example, since he's never asked to re-write a paper. Still, "Lets correct some false impressions you may have about my sexual adequacy" is currently number one on his top ten conversation non-starters. Don't get him wrong – it probably does count as a come-on (but only if the word 'unsuccessful' is placed before 'come-on').

It makes him feel like a total loser – incompetent, inexperienced. Like he's failed the basic Guy Test. He's male – he's supposed to be good at certain things. Like, instinctively. He's a guy – he should be a good...driver. But Casey's in the passenger seat, with her red pen and her checklist and she's always marking him down so that his score adds up to a big fat 'Meaningless'.

(And he thought Olga was tough).

So maybe he ran a red light or two...took some curves too fast. It's just...hard to slow down when his foot's itching to floor it, when he's dying to find out just how far he can go. See, Casey's methodical, by the book. She doesn't understand that Derek can't do that kind of bloodless, lets-consult-the-manual driving when his hands are on her body – at that point, the only thing _his_ body wants to do is _accelerate._ It's a classic case of mixed signals.

(It doesn't mean he's...a bad driver).

He kind of hates Casey for making him think about this stuff, and question his instinctive guy-type abilities. No other girl ever demanded he take the corners tighter, or criticized his ability to parallel-park (granted, his 'parking', pre-Casey, was mostly a solo activity. But still). He should probably chalk it up to Casey's stupid need for perfection, and just...let it (her) go. But it's just not right that for him – hooking up with Casey was the ultimate thrill, while for her... He imagines her with a pitying smirk on her face, filing him under 'Inadequate' – and it makes his stomach flip over. How can he hand her that kind of ammo, even if she's (probably) too boringly righteous to use it? She'll still _know,_ and there's just no way he can be okay with that. It's _Casey _– his pride dictates that he has to be the best she's ever going to have. Ever.

(See – this is why Superman and Lex Luthor never got together. Well, one of the reasons).

* * *

It begins (as things often don't), with cake.

Cheesecake.

Chocolate cake.

Carrot cake.

"It's kind of like living in a bakery," Jerry observes, as Casey sails in one evening with another plate-of-cake. "I think I'm going to have to start calling you Cake-sey."

Casey smiles vaguely at this, and Derek refrains from making retching noises (see – he can be polite).

She hands Jerry a fork, then asks, "Well, what do you think?"

(Yeah – was Derek's weird 'Casey – sex' association not complicated enough? Was it _necessary_ to add 'provider of baked goods' to that?).

"It's nice," Jerry says, then winces as her face falls. "I mean – it's great...mmm!"

"Better than the cranberry upside-down cake?"

"Umm...both good?" he tries.

Casey gets a stupid look on her face and bats her hand at him, like 'oh, you!' – then continues, "But if you had to choose, then you'd say..."

"...I'd say, I think you're going to a lot of trouble. You could just – buy me a cake."

"But it's your birthday! I want it to be perfect," she argues.

"So you're _rehearsing_ the birthday cake?" Derek asks. Why he's complaining he doesn't know – after all, he gets the leftovers (...which is not at all a cruelly delicious commentary on his current situation. Not even a little).

"Cake is complicated!" she defends.

(Yeah, Derek knows 'complicated'. Trust him, 'cake' is the _least complicated_ thing in this room).

"You...are really really thorough. It kind of makes me wonder what else might be in store for the big day..." Jerry hints.

"If I said – a sophisticated, cultured evening for two, with good food, mature conversation and classical music...what would you think?"

"...sounds – sophisticated. And...cultured," Jerry says gamely.

"Okay," Derek holds up his index fingers, "And if she said 'house party,' your reaction would be...?"

Derek doesn't really have a handle on this whole 'selfless' thing – but rescuing Jerry from an evening of insane boredom means a reward of some kind, yes? (Such as...hmm, off the top of his head – Jerry never seeing Casey naked).

Casey glares and huffs, "Derek!" at the same time that Jerry says, "Awesome!"

"What?" she turns to Jerry with a shocked look of betrayal (Derek wonders for the billionth time, what _exactly _she sees when she looks at Jerry. Because it definitely isn't Jerry).

"The other thing sounded...good too," Jerry tries. "But – it would be nice, to have some of the guys round..." He fixes her with a pleading look.

"Well, if that's what you want..." Casey says reluctantly, "I guess we could change our evening for two into an elegant soiree..."

"Great!" Jerry claps his hands. "Elegant sorbet it is – I can't wait to introduce you to the guys. Baz and Zimmer are going to love you."

"...great," Casey says weakly.

Jerry gets to his feet. "As a matter of fact, I'm going to call a couple of people, and tell them to rest up for Friday." He smiles at Casey and says, with complete confidence, "It's going to be awesome!"

"Tell them to wear suits!" Casey calls after him.

(Yeah, 'awesome' is totally the word to describe this party).

She turns to Derek and narrows her eyes. "House party?"

"Excellent," he says immediately, "I may have to cancel some prior plans, but I'm there."

"No," she disagrees, "you're not! You might have tricked Jerry into wanting a party" –

"Okay, so, in Casey-land, 'tricked' means 'offered him an alternative to your lame idea and watched him jump at it'," he muses. He makes a thoughtful 'I'll make a note of it' face.

"– but it is not going to be a typical party. It's going to be a small, very exclusive gathering of Jerry's friends. And guess whose name won't be on the guest list?" she finishes with a triumphant look.

(It's almost like she doesn't want him to come).

Derek considers this, before calling out, "Jerry?"

He pokes his head out from the kitchen, cell phone still clamped to his ear.

"I'm invited to your party, right?" He aims a smug look at Casey, who closes her eyes in defeat.

Jerry covers the mouthpiece of his phone with his hand, "Dude, of course. The more the merrier!"

(Cool. So he won't mind Derek issuing a few more invitations).

* * *

The girl who sits in front of him in Media Studies – Laura (it's common courtesy to be on first name terms with the person whose hard work is enabling him to coast), shakes her head. But she's already rummaging in her bag and taking out her notes, so he relaxes.

"Priorities," she says, as she hands over some sheets of paper. The top one has the words 'Male Gaze' written in caps, and underlined twice.

"What?"

"Priorities," she repeats, sounding amused. "Do you have any?"

Actually...he'd had some idea of turning it all around, a la dad. Still livin' the college-experience, and lovin' the freedom, but...maybe pulling it together a little. Doing some of that four-letters-starts-with-'w'-ends-with-'ork'-word.

Of course, lately, his list of priorities comes down to figuring out just how many ways he can use his hands and mouth to make his stepsister lose it. (He might have gotten a little sidetracked, but that plotline was a lot more interesting than the alternative 'Derek-Venturi-occasionally-reads-course-material' story).

"It's a good thing you're cute," Laura says, closing her bag, "Otherwise, this whole leeching-from-me thing would get old."

"I'm not a leech," he protests.

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"If I were a leech, would I be telling you about this great party on Friday night?" he asks. "Oh, and bring a friend. Bring ten if you want."

"A party?" she says, then crosses her arms. "Is the cute tearful mess going to be there?"

"What?"

"You know, that girl who tied up the bathroom for like – an hour last time because some guy looked at her the wrong way? You spent half the night shouting at her through the bathroom door?"

He just stares at her, because –

"Or...maybe that's all part of the party package for you...since you seem to have no memory of it..."

- because her words make the memory rise up again, fresh and crisp and flashback-ready.

(It's funny, he remembers the stupidest things clearly, like the blue flowers on the comforter – while the rest – Casey – is a soft-focus blur of smoothness and tangled hair and more-please).

"That's – I don't know," he says finally. "She's – I wouldn't know." Laura raises her eyebrows at him, so he has the (dis)comfort of knowing exactly how weird he sounds. "But we have two bathrooms. So..."

She considers this.

"Okay," she says. "I might drop by."

He scribbles the address in a page of her notebook, and reminds her to bring her friends.

* * *

In the party of life, Casey is inevitably to be found in the kitchen (or the bathroom. Or the closet), freaking out.

She's muttering at the oven, so he has a moment to appreciate the picture – her face is flushed, she's got flour in her hair, and chocolate stains on her dress. She rakes her fingers through her hair again, then turns, and...

"You!" she growls, and he actually backs up a step. "I'm going to kill you!"

"Me? What did I do?" he asks (but only after making sure Casey isn't holding anything sharp).

"There was a guest list!" she grits out. "There was a carefully planned menu! There was –"

The oven bings, and she whirls around, grabbing an oven mitt off the table. "And now?" she continues, "We are running out of space, and cake!"

"Okay Boring McHumdrum, you may not realize this – but those are the signs of a happening party."

He winces as she opens the oven door and releases a blast of heat into the already stuffy kitchen.

"Jerry doesn't know most of those people!" (Yeah, neither does Derek – but he's not complaining).

"So I've given him an opportunity to widen his social circle." (She should think of them as...extras).

Casey glares at him as she places the cake on the kitchen table. "Oh, don't even pretend this was about anything other than ruining my birthday dinner plans."

"So you're punishing me for giving Jerry the party he actually wanted," Derek muses (deflection – what's that?). He leans back a little and looks over his shoulder, where he can see Jerry, surrounded by a crowd of admiring girls, attempting to lift his friend over his head. "Because from where I'm standing – it looks like he's having a good time."

(Oh, and on a totally unrelated note – Jerry hasn't exactly mounted a search for his missing girlfriend).

Even as she's lifting the cake out of the baking tin, she's shaking her head. "Yeah – your motivation for throwing a huge, inconvenient party was Jerry's happiness. Why don't I believe that?"

"Hey, I'll have you know...is cake supposed to do that?" Without the support of the baking tin, the cake kind of...oozes.

Casey puts her head in her hands and moans. "Your oven is insanely hot! How can this not be done?"

At this precise moment a girl pokes her head in and says, "Hey – we were wondering if" –

"Get out!" Casey lets out a half-strangled scream. Then she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, she says, in a much calmer voice, "I'm sorry –the kitchen is temporarily off limits. If you could wait for just a little longer" –

"Okay," the girl says, blinking fast and moving away. "Not a problem!"

Casey takes another deep breath as cake drips onto her shoes. Then she turns (skidding through the puddle of cake), and makes her way to the cutlery drawer, where she extracts a really sharp knife.

"Here's the plan," she says, with a grim calmness (that completely freaks Derek out). "You've ruined everything..."

(...he's broken her).

He takes a step backwards and holds up his hands. "I'm thinking I should...check on the party. Make sure everything's" –

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," she informs him, advancing slowly (Casey does know that this feature is rated 'adult' for sexual situations, not explicit violence, right?).

"You are going to help me fix this," she says, and grabs hold of him with the non-knife holding hand. Her fingernails dig into his forearm, and she pulls him around to the opposite side of the table (and that weird feeling down his arm is probably because her nails are sharp, not because this is the first time she's touched him since she officially started going out with Jerry).

"I am going to cube the cheese – you can skewer the grapes," she says.

(...is that an innuendo?)

She hands him some toothpicks and grabs the bunch of grapes off the top of the fruit bowl (oh – so those aren't fake). Then she heads for the fridge and grabs a block of cheese. She frowns when she turns around, and gestures with the knife.

"Start skewering!"

(Right. _Not_ an innuendo).

* * *

He plans on dumping the cheese plate on the coffee table, where he figures everyone will ignore it (it's cheese...in an unmelted, unadjacent to nachos state) – but it turns out that Laura's friend (tall, pretty, blonde) really likes –

"– cheese! Especially this kind," she says, taking a cheese-and-grape toothpick. "What kind of cheese is this, anyway?"

"The orange kind?" he hazards, and offloads the plate onto her before making his escape.

Or –_trying_ to make his escape, because he looks down and she's somehow got a grip on his shirt (impressively, she manages this without dropping any of the cheese cubes).

"Are these grapes organic?" she asks.

"Until fifteen minutes ago, I thought they were plastic," he says, turning to leave (if he wanted to pretend to care about that stuff, he's got a neurotic, flour-covered know-it-all in the kitchen to enlighten him).

"Seedless?" she asks, still hanging on to his arm.

By the time he makes it back to the kitchen, the mess has been mopped up, and Casey is sitting at the kitchen table, arms folded. In front of her is the last remaining slice of chocolate raspberry ruffle cake, and there are two guys standing in front of her, shuffling awkwardly.

" – make a good case," she says to one, who punches his fist in the air. Then she turns to the other, and says, "Your turn. In one hundred words – or less – explain why your relationship with Jerry entitles you to this cake."

"Uh..." he clears his throat. "Well – um...I think that" –

"You're holding _auditions _for the last piece of cake?" Derek interrupts.

Guy the Second whirls around, and points at him. "Hey!" he says, and makes his way over. He throws an arm around Derek, which Derek quickly shrugs off. This doesn't appear to have any effect on Guy the Second, who grins at Casey and says, "If I know Jerry like I think I know Jerry – he wants me to have the cake. Right, bud?" He blinks appealingly at Derek.

"That's not Jerry," Casey hastily clarifies.

"Oh – sorry man...when you invited all those people in the cafeteria, I just assumed it was your party."

Casey glares at him (thanks Guy the Second!). Then she hands the plate containing the last slice of cake to Guy the First, who immediately digs in. (It is pretty good cake).

"Halfsies?" Guy the Second offers, without much hope. He shadows Guy the First as he exits the kitchen, leaving a trail of crumbs behind him.

Casey seems to be post-freakout, which means she's not rushing around, trying to do five different things at once (and, invariably, trying to force Derek to help). So it's just the two of them, staring at each other in the kitchen.

And here it is. The moment. The not-freaking-out-and-boyfriend-nowhere-in-sight moment. It's a good thing he hasn't been hanging around for days, waiting for this moment (he's been doing other stuff...that escapes his memory right now).

(The oven's still on, right? Because it is...really hot in here).

Casey breaks eye-contact and grabs a carton of cream off the table. She looks down at it for a long minute, as if she's committing it to memory – before making her way over and opening the fridge. He follows – he has to, because even if he hasn't been waiting (exactly), this kind of moment is harder to stumble across than a critically endangered snow leopard (...yeah. Lizzie had a thing – and he didn't have his headphones at the time).

She replaces the cream, then says, without turning around to face him, "I thought you'd be using this party as an excuse to spend some quality time with your gropies."

(She has got to know how close he's standing)

"You mean my groupies."

"No," she says, and she does turn around then, "I mean your gropies."

She still has flour on her face. There's gunk in her hair. (There's definitely something wrong with him because he's not pointing, laughing, and/or filming this).

She looks at him, still waiting for a response.

"Kind of hard to work my magic when you declared the kitchen off limits, refused to let me leave, and then made me skewer grapes." (...Yeah – that still sounds kind of dirty).

(She's not moving away. They're standing toe-to-toe almost – and she's not moving away).

"It was the least you could do – and I do mean the least, since this whole stupid party was your fault," she says.

Casual, confident, in control – that's how to play it. (His heart thumps hard).

"I'll make it up to you," his hand reaches out and takes hold of her hand. His thumb strokes over her palm. (Clutch point...this feels like clutch point).

She looks at him, mouth open slightly. His fingers glide up her arm, barely brushing against her skin (slow and steady, he's moving it into first).

Casey clears her throat. "Tell me," she says, then swallows, "Tell me you're not coming on to me at my boyfriend's birthday party."

Her voice is higher than normal, with that weird 'barely-keeping-it-together' edge. (Is it him, or has the lull between freakouts gotten shorter over the years?).

She steps to the side (since the only other alternative is stepping inside the fridge), and hisses, "What is wrong with you?"

"What?" (It feels like she slammed on the brakes full force...and the airbags didn't inflate).

"My boyfriend is out there," she gestures in entirely the wrong direction (unless Jerry is hiding out in the airing cupboard – which Derek sincerely hopes isn't the case).

Way to derail the road trip. (He has a full tank and a map with all the major hotspots carefully marked...and she wants to discuss their spare tyre?).

He fights down the unease curling in his stomach and says, "Come on, Case – we both know he's not important here." He doesn't make it a question. (Derek's always had co-star status in any and all Casey-related productions).

"He's important to me," she says immediately.

(No way).

"No, he's not," he (doesn't panic) insists. She's known him what? A few weeks? (He's a glorified guest star).

She blinks fast – once, twice. Then she says, "I don't know what gave you this idea – but I am not the kind of person who – who just plays with other people's feelings, and relationships and – and makes people compromise their principles. Well – you should know...my principles are un-compromiseable!"

She raises her chin, and stares him down, and he feels – he feels...

"Message received," he manages (it actually takes a second before he remembers to use his voice).

"There are single celled organisms with a more evolved sense of decency than you! Don't you have any standards?" She's still blinking fast, and her voice sounds weird too (not that he cares).

"Sure I do. Girls must be at least..." he considers her for a long moment, "...more attractive than you are, to play."

Then he turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.

* * *

Later, when the party's winding down, Jerry finally remembers he has a girlfriend, and coaxes Casey into the living room.

(By this time, Derek's talking to Laura and her friend, so he hardly even notices).

"...just ask her?" Laura says, "Because I'm getting tired."

"Hmm?" he asks.

"...already met you. You screamed at me earlier, remember?" Baz says, and Casey flushes.

"...can't believe...noticed...into you," Laura keeps talking.

"Is that...egg...in your hair?" Jerry asks, and Casey's hands fly to her head.

"...ate dairy for you...miracle," Laura says, and then thumps his shoulder. "...probably why...bathroom...long time. Are you even listening?"

"Of course I am," Derek turns to her and her fr - (...when did her friend disappear?).

"So, are you going to make a move, or what?" Laura asks.

He glances over at Casey, who is looking up at Jerry, and...

(He's not a PDA kind of guy...but he's got this fantasy of taking her, right here, in front of everyone. And okay, right now, 'everyone' consists of Jerry, his four friends, and Laura...but that's six more people than he normally wants to involve in his sex-life).

She's not even looking at him.

He bends down, quickly, and kisses Laura. Almost immediately, his skin starts to prickle with the feeling of people watching – but this time he welcomes it. And when he looks up – Casey's eyes are on him.

The sound of Laura's voice makes him break eye contact. "Um – that was...unexpected."

When he checks again, Casey's eyes are glued to Jerry.

(He's going to make her look at him).

"Do you want to take this to my room?" he blurts to the girl in front of him.

"And that...was _totally_ unexpected," she says faintly.

She stares at him and he just knows she's going to shoot him down (if he's lucky, she won't slap him. If he's really lucky, she'll decide to speak in a whisper for no apparent reason).

"...Okay," she says, as if she's testing the word in her mouth.

(He feels sick).

"Great," he says, and just stands there.

She waits, then hesitantly takes his hand. "Um...before my friend comes back and throws a hissy would be good," she hints.

He nods jerkily, and tows her in the direction of his bedroom. He knows he's being watched (it feels like his skin has been sandpapered), but he keeps his head down, and keeps moving. (He's not hoping against hope for a Casey-fit or anything).

And then, they're there. At the door of his bedroom. He starts to turn the handle, and Laura says, suddenly, "Wait."

He closes his eyes in mostly relief.

She exhales. "Okay – um. So this kind of stuff doesn't usually happen to me. And...I don't know if there's a protocol or anything...I don't even know if it makes any difference to guys – maybe it doesn't, but..." she takes a breath. "It's just - I have a boyfriend," she says simply.

An out. He has an out. (Seriously, she just wanted to see his collection of board games. It was a Boggle emergency!).

"Well, obviously you're not comfortable with this," he says, hoping he doesn't sound too glad. "So maybe we should..." he trails off at the expression on her face. "Are you even listening to me?"

Her eyes trace his face, like she's committing every little detail to memory (so why does he feel almost invisible?)

She shakes her head and smiles a small, strange smile. "You...were probably captain of something in high school, weren't you?" she says. It's not really a question.

"Hockey," he says, kind of weirded out by the way she's looking at him. "Hockey team."

"Figures," she replies, and she leans up and kisses him.

And he realizes that he doesn't have an out after all.

(Not that that's a big deal. Like Casey said – it's not like he has any standards anyway).


	7. Chapter 7

NOTES: Oh - first off, I just want to apologize for not answering feedback for the last chapter - I had Internet Issues, and I wasn't able to go online for a couple of days. And then by that time I figured it was a little odd and late to send replies. I'm not usually so rude :( I'm sorry. So I just want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed - it was really appreciated...and sorry again!

DISCLAIMER: Sometimes I wonder if it's a bit silly doing this in every chapter. It probably is. (Just in case it isn't - I still don't own LWD)

* * *

(Before, during and...) Afterwards, it's completely awkward. She dresses quickly, back turned to him, and says brightly, "So, I should go...let Miranda yell at me."

"Yeah – okay," he says, even though the last thing he wants to do is go out there and face Casey again (well, maybe the second last. The last would be going out there and facing Casey...without clothing). He shrugs on his shirt and pants.

When they leave the bedroom though, it doesn't turn out like he expects.

(Honestly, he expects a melodrama. It seems like the kind of situation that calls for overwrought dialogue and lame symbolic rain– plus, Casey McFreaksalot has top billing...and she's an emotional thunderstorm).

But instead of walking into a Scene, the set is practically deserted. Baz is curled up in an armchair – but Baz is basically a human prop, so he counts about as much as the coffee table (and less than the television).

He can hear noise from the kitchen though – the sound of running water, clanking...obviously the Casey clean-up has begun.

"I think she left without me," Laura says, blinking. She shakes her head. "Wow."

"What?" Derek says. "No – maybe she's still in the bathroom?"

She looks at him pityingly (it's the same look she gives him whenever he bums her Media Studies notes, actually), and says, "Yeah – she didn't spend that much time in the bathroom the week she tried bulimia as a lifestyle choice. Plus, her coat's gone." She makes a face. "I've been ditched."

She doesn't sound upset, or whiny, just matter of fact.

It turns out she doesn't live that far away, so Derek walks her home. And it's not even as awkward as it could be, because Laura keeps telling stories (or maybe just one really long story – he doesn't know) about her friend Miranda, until finally, they're at her doorstep.

"...found out it was her little brother all along – and this is my stop," she says, without taking a breath. She digs in her handbag for her keys, then says, without looking at him, "So...um...tonight was – thanks. It was really – thanks."

And what is he supposed to say to that? (No problem? Anytime? All part of the deluxe service?).

He ends up not saying anything ('You're welcome' feels wrong – like he just passed her the salt or something).

"I guess I'll see you in Media Studies," Laura says as she fits her key in the lock.

"Yeah," he says. "I'll see you."

(The door's already closing).

* * *

Walking back, he tries to be positive.

(On the bright side, he's definitely got two of the '_Seven Things You Wish He Knew About Sex'_ figured out).

(On the not-so-bright side, he can't bring himself to care).

When he opens the door, there's been another scene change. Baz is nowhere to be found, and Jerry is sprawled out on the couch, tie undone (Casey had insisted), and head tipped back. He opens his eyes and squints at Derek. "Hey man," he says, and grins. "Great party, huh?"

(Yeah. It was all kinds of running-jump-off-a-balcony awesome).

"Where's Casey?" he can't help asking.

"Hm? Oh, she was tired, so Baz took her home."

He pushes down whatever feeling (relief? Disappointment?) he's feeling and props himself on the arm of the couch. When he blinks, his eyes feel gritty and sore.

Jerry sits up and reaches for the beer on the coffee table. He takes a sip, then says, "You must be feeling tired yourself." He waggles his eyebrows significantly, and Derek tries not to flinch (and fails).

"Seriously, man, you have _got _to give me some pointers. I mean, not only did you score, but Casey had to stop that other girl from stabbing herself with a toothpick when she found out."

The words are like fingers, poking and jabbing at him. He's starting to think Miranda had the right idea (impalement by toothpick is sounding better by the second).

Jerry pulls off his tie and lets it drop onto the couch. "She was kind of hot," he says thoughtfully.

Derek looks at him.

"Not that – your girl was cool too. Though I gotta say, I wouldn't have thought she was your type." He shakes his head, grinning. "I did kind of wonder if I should check on you guys, make sure she didn't like, crush you or anything..."

He must have been born six foot two. It's the only explanation Derek can come up with as to why Jerry and Tact have never been formally (or physically) introduced.

"Shit," he says suddenly. "Sorry, man. Casey would kill me – I didn't mean...your girl seemed cool. What's that word" – he snaps his fingers together and frowns, "– you know, that nice word for chubby chicks?"

Derek stares.

"Curvy," Jerry says, and points his index finger. "That's it. She was _curvy._"

(Seriously – _this_ is the guy Casey wants to have a meaningful relationship with?)

"And she probably has a great personality too."

(Yeah, because if tonight has proved anything, it's that _Derek Venturi_ is the prize in the cereal box).

He swallows hard and gets to his feet, "I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, I'm beat," Jerry agrees. He stands and stretches. "You know, when Casey first said it, I thought this elegant soufflé thing was going to be a real drag." He runs a hand through his hair, and yawns. "I really got that wrong, huh?"

* * *

He doesn't sleep very well, and he drags himself through the next day (his life is suddenly moving in slow motion) and tries to figure out what happens next. The only thing that he can say with certainty is that Casey's going to want an explanation (he _could_ pretend that's because he's special – but really, it's because she's Casey. And it's lame to pretend otherwise). He gears up for this (checks his brake-fluid and airbags) because he knows it's not going to be an ordinary collision (it's going to be a no-holds-barred, driver-cut-from-wreckage kind of deal).

Except...the next few days are completely Casey-free.

"I dunno – she said something about..." Jerry scrunches up his face, trying to remember, "work, I think. Or was it something about magazines? Maybe detoxing?" He sighs. "It's Casey," he says, as if that's explanation enough (and it almost is).

Whatever the reason – and it changes every time Derek asks (which he doesn't), the result is the same. An unexpected absence of Casey. And he's always believed that an unexpected absence of Casey (like an unexpected release from the nagging pain of toothache) should be celebrated. And he sees no reason for this to change, just because he and Casey were...whatever they were (which they aren't now, anyway). Plus, he's dodged a Casey-lecture about Women (subtitle: Treating Them With Respect, addendum: You're Disgusting, Derek) – he should be celebrating even harder. And he is.

He lets dishes pile up in the sink.

He tracks crumbs into the carpet.

He blasts his music when he gets home from classes.

He arranges dates with girls (just to prove he can), then finds lame excuses to cancel (just to prove –yeah, he hasn't figured that part out).

(It's great. Completely great).

(And not like living in a silent movie at all).

* * *

"Don't get me wrong, man," Jerry says, blowing out his breath in exasperation, "I like her. I do. She's, you know...neat."

(Jerry's scraping the bottom of the barrel if 'obsessive-compulsive' is the best compliment he's got).

" – _thorough,_ and she makes good cake," he continues. "But – she's a lot of work."

Of course she is. (She's a double shift without a coffee-break. She's, you know, _Casey_).

" – down to her now. I am done running. I guess what I'm trying to say is..." he looks at Derek appealingly, "Don't let me call her. Even if I really want to. Slap the phone out of my hand if you need to."

Derek considers this. "Can do."

Funny though, he never has to yank Jerry's cell phone away from him. Derek, on the other hand, picks up this habit of scrolling down his list of contacts, to Casey's name. Sometimes his thumb hovers over the call button, but he never actually presses it.

(He asked. He asked, and she basically answered with 'How do I say no? Let me count the ways'. It doesn't leave a lot of room for misinterpretation).

See he's never been averse to taking risks...once he's fairly sure the odds are in his favor.

But.

Long shot doesn't even begin to describe this.

* * *

In his next Media Studies class, Laura plops down next to him and says (like they're already in the middle of a conversation), "So, she's still not talking to me."

He blinks. "Who?" He's a little distracted by the change in routine (...or stupidity is an air-borne disease and he really needs to find a new room-mate).

"Miranda?" she says, and raises her eyebrows at him.

"Okay?" he tries (this concerns him because...?).

"She's never gone off on me like that before. Like I'm the enemy, or this big threat or something." She scrawls absently on the cover of her notebook, and Derek hopes she's not going to cry.

"Actually," she says, and the corners of her mouth quirk up, "It's kind of cool."

(He doesn't get it).

* * *

When Jerry comes into the kitchen, Derek can tell that something is up. Mostly because Jerry says, "D, please tell me you have plans tonight."

"I have plans tonight," he says obligingly. (Plans he's planning on cancelling, but...).

"Great!" Jerry says and rubs his hands together. "Casey's coming over to watch a movie...and I kind of promised her you wouldn't be here."

The thump his heart gives isn't weird or sappy (it's a normal directorial response to forward momentum, that's all).

"Casey's – here? Casey's coming here?" he asks.

"Yeah," Jerry says, "And it is _on_. It is very much on, my friend."

The way he says that makes Derek want to demand that Jerry turn whatever 'it' is, _off_. Immediately.

"I thought you were done. You said you were done," he says instead.

"Yeah, but...She said she was sorry for flaking out – and that she wants to, and I quote, 'get serious'." Jerry punctuates this with raised eyebrows.

'Get serious' in Casey-speak probably means she wants Jerry to write a poem, or get involved in some Casey-cause (hopeless, of course), or memorize a list of Casey-trivia. Figuring out what Casey wants is a game that requires skill and strategy – there's no way 'sitting and eating cake' qualifies Jerry for the Topless Level.

(Derek isn't entirely sure how _he_ got to that level. The best he can come up with is that he inadvertently entered a cheat code and short-circuited the family-friendly user interface).

"And you think that that means..." Derek squeezes out a sound that could be mistaken for a laugh (there's _no way_ Jerry is progressing, but it burns that he's still playing).

"Dude, I don't _think_ –" (no argument there), "– I _know_. She says she thinks we can 'go the distance.'"

There's a moment where Jerry stands there, stupid grin on his face, perfectly still...while the cabinets behind him seem to rush forward, towards Derek (like a contra-zoom. It makes his stomach lurch). He blinks, and the spinning stops.

(No).

"She – said that?"

(Just – _no_).

Jerry's grin gets wider, and he says, "So you won't mind finding somewhere else to hang for a few hours?"

(Sure. Just pass him a rope and he'll find a convenient branch).

Derek swallows. "Sure thing," he says.

"Appreciated," Jerry says, and claps him on the shoulder before he leaves the kitchen.

Derek waits until he's safely out of earshot before he phones Sara and cancels their date.

(No way is he following this script. He's calling for a rewrite).

* * *

When the doorbell rings, he's ready. He takes a deep breath before he opens the door and says, "Ca-Sara?"

"I came to see how you were feeling," Sara says. She looks him up and down. "Agonising stomach cramps look good on you, by the way."

Jerry chooses this particular moment to make his entrance, air-freshener in hand. "D, is that your date?" He continues without waiting for an answer, "Have a great time somewhere that isn't here, you guys!"

Jerry spritzes something offensively flowery, then frowns down at the carpet.

Sara crosses her arms and her eyes narrow. In a very calm voice she says, "Excuse me – did you cancel our date...so that you could hook up with some other girl?"

No – he'd cancelled to prevent 'some other girl' from hooking up with his room-mate (he's a one man Silver Ring Thing).

"Is there a problem?" Jerry asks, now kneeling on the floor picking up bits of crud.

Derek closes his eyes, takes a deep breath – then steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him. He looks at Sara, arms still folded and head tilted, and sighs. The truth belongs in Ripley's Believe It or Not, so he opts for the (ancient and dog-eared) script.

"I can explain," he offers (and that line is so tired it's practically stifling a yawn). He waits expectantly for the indignant interruption, possibly followed (or preceded) by a slap.

"Great!" she says instead.

(Seriously, doesn't _anyone _follow the script anymore?)

* * *

So he tries to persuade her to leave (and by 'tries' he means 'does everything short of storyboarding how this scene is supposed to go'), but it turns out that Sara has raised obliviousness to an art form (why does that seem familiar?).

She chirps, "Now that you've explained it, I wouldn't dream of leaving! Though, you should have just _said. _Looking out for your stepsister – that's really sweet."

(Yeah. Now he's just got to convince _Casey_ of that).

Sara breezes past him and into the living room. She plops down onto the couch and smiles at Jerry. "So, what are we watching?" she asks.

(And just like that, Derek's got a screwball comedy on his hands. It's everything he never wanted, and more).

Fifteen minutes later, a defeated Jerry peers at her from the safety of the kitchen. "Dude," he says, exasperated, "I have dropped like, ten major hints, and _nothing._ Not to criticize, but – she's kind of dumb." He sighs and predicts, "Casey is going to be pissed."

* * *

"Why would I care?" Casey says. She's just standing there, arms folded. It's not a striking pose. Her clothes are typical workout wear. Her hair is tied back in a nothing-special ponytail.

(And Derek's eyes are glued to her).

"...Because you told me that you wanted a Derek-free date," Jerry says. "You said" –

(His stomach is twisted up, squeezed like a dishrag).

"I don't care," she interrupts, sending contradictory eye-beams of death in Derek's direction. (This feeling lodged in his chest? It's the polar opposite of good...but it's still a million times better than the radio silence of the last few days).

"I don't care what Derek does," she continues. "It doesn't matter to me. Why would it matter to me? I am completely indifferent to –"

"Yeah. Okay. Why don't we just – watch the movie," Jerry says, raking his hand through his hair. He sounds tired.

So he watches Casey watch a movie about dancing. And probably about achieving unrealistic goals and overcoming impossible odds (they're _always _about achieving unrealistic goals and overcoming impossible odds).

This leads to –

"No way!" Jerry says, good humor suddenly restored by –

"Watch." Casey smiles at him and then flicks a look in Derek's direction, too quickly for him to do anything but register it. She pushes the coffee table out of the way. Then she bends forward, palms flat on the floor and –

"Wow," Sara blinks at her.

"You can walk on your hands!" Jerry stares. "You are the coolest girlfriend ever!"

Casey smiles an upside-down smile before gracefully getting back on her feet. She beams at Jerry, who looks at her, awestruck.

"Yeah – she got attention for all the wrong reasons in high school," Derek says loudly, causing Casey's eyes to snap onto his and (oh, look at that, _away_ from Jerry). "It was like living with a monkey."

"Well, I was just trying to make a knuckle-dragger like you feel at home," she retorts.

"That is seriously impressive," Sara says. "I mean, I can't even touch my toes."

And of course, that's the cue for Casey to show off her moves. Sara claps and Jerry's practically drooling. Casey just keeps moving, face serene, not looking at anyone.

Derek watches her – legs scissoring, the fluid, confident motions of her arms –

(...and he has this fantasy. The room is dark until the spotlight comes up, and then Casey's in front of him, eyes locked on his, and she's dancing for him – just for him. She's pulling out all the stops, she's literally bending over backwards to please him, but he's going to hold out for as long as he can. He's going to make her earn that tip).

He tilts his chin and watches her, and pretends that she's dancing for him, and it helps.

Logically, the dancing movie is followed by a movie about terminal illness. Casey makes it to the unsuccessful transplant (the kidney is rejected...and how messed up is it that Derek is sympathizing with an _organ_?) before she has to take an emergency tissue break.

Derek waits an insanely long amount of time – two, maybe even three minutes (yeah, okay – but they're _slow motion _minutes), before following her. Sara seems fascinated by the happenings onscreen (the mother can cry and chew scenery at the same time), while Jerry is absorbed with the bowl of popcorn, so he doesn't even need to mumble something about getting a drink.

He waits outside the bathroom until she emerges, still dabbing under her eyes. She stops when she sees him.

(He has words – he always has words, even if they're never the Hallmark-approved right ones).

"What do you want?" she asks. (The question's so loaded he can practically hear the safety clicking off, but her tone is flat, uninterested).

"Look – I'm not saying the silent treatment wasn't a nice touch, and I definitely appreciated it," (the way he _appreciates_ a powerplay from an opposing team), "but we both know you're just dying to yell at me, so why don't you just do it and get it over with?"

"Why would I yell at you?" she asks, puffy eyed and dispassionate.

"Because it's what you do!" His voice raises (someone has to remind her how this whole fighting thing works). He takes a breath. "And – I just figured...after the party" –

"Oh yeah. The party," she repeats, cutting him off. "I forgot. Let's see," she says levelly. "You shouldn't have used Jerry's birthday as an excuse to throw yourself a party. It was a horrible, insensitive and immature thing to do." She shrugs slightly. "Happy now?"

Before he knows he's going to do it, he takes a step to the left, blocking her exit.

"That's it?" he asks, staring her down.

(Please – Derek's come up with better material, and he never goes on guilt trips. Casey's the one who always packs the picnic and insists on taking the scenic route).

"Do you mind?" she gestures around him. He doesn't budge.

"That's the best you can come up with?"

She looks him straight in the eye, and she says, "I don't know what you were expecting." She takes a breath (and he tenses, completely unprepared for the hit he knows is coming). "It's not like I have anything to say to you."

(Where's the ref? He's bleeding on the ice, here).

It doesn't matter that it is (has to be) a lie. Because Casey and him? They talk over each other, they talk down to each other, they backtalk and talk-back and talk at each other...but they've always got _something_ to say.

"Are you going to move?" she asks.

He does – and there's a completely logical reason why it's towards her (and it's not even the obvious one).

She's stiff in his arms, but that just makes him tighten his grip.

Really, it's got nothing to do with what he wants. It's his body. It's like learning how to ride a bike. Once you've learned it, you can't _unlearn_ it. His body just...knows what to do when he's near Casey's body.

(This isn't _love_ – it's muscle memory).

The flat, even tone is gone when she says (almost whispers) "What are you doing?"

He buries his face in her neck, and his hands stroke over her back, her hips, her stomach...

(Here's the thing – he's always had a smart mouth. The problem is, his hands are totally sincere).

Every brush of his fingertips is saying 'Pick _me'_ – but Casey grabs his wrists, and steps back. She says, insistently, "What are you doing?"

She has to feel it too, because the fake calm maturity is gone. Her breathing has speeded up and she's not looking through him anymore, she's looking _at_ him.

"What" – she repeats, and this time the tone (God, he hates that tone) is creeping back.

Casey's good with words – but words aren't the only way to make a point – and if he has to use his body to keep her off balance (to _show_ her)...well, he's prepared to use every advantage he has.

He kisses her. And there's no way, no way she can tell him there's nothing there – not when she's kissing him back, hot and desperate, hands cupping his face.

And, see – that's probably enough. Point made. But he's Derek Venturi, and he's just got to push it – sliding one hand into her pants and making her bite her lip. She makes these high pitched noises that aren't anything but funny (so why do they make him shiver?), and she has this look on her face – eyes closed, frowning (and it's so _Casey _it makes something inside him twist).

It's over too fast – she grabs onto his shoulders and her head jerks back and –

Jerry calls – "Hey, Case – you get flushed away or something?"

They jump apart at the sound of his voice, and Casey looks at him for a long moment, wide-eyed, before pushing past him and making her way back to the living room. He follows a few seconds later.

(The rest of movie night is kind of an...anti-climax).

* * *

The next evening, Derek figures Jerry has taekwondo or tenko or judo or juggling or something, because he doesn't show until late.

But the slam of the door when Jerry does return suggests he might be wrong. That, and the fact that Jerry's first words are – "Dude – no offence, but your stepsister? Is crazy." He pulls his bag off his shoulder, drops it, then kicks it across the floor. He leans on the back of the couch, digging his fingers into the fabric.

"What did she do?" he asks (and he doesn't expect...but he's never seen Jerry look like this)

Jerry raises his head to look at him, mouth in a hard line. "The on-off, I like you but I'm saving myself until – until people can like, breathe underwater thing? That was bad enough, but this...?" he trails off, and shakes his head. "She broke up with me. Can you believe that?"

(Believe it? As Jerry speaks, he's mentally sacrificing a goat in thanksgiving).

"I put up with the whole 'look but don't touch' thing for like, _weeks_, and _she's_ the one who decides to break up?" He stares at Derek, a look of utter confusion on his face.

"That's rough," Derek says, schooling his face into guilelessness. "She – uh, didn't happen to mention _why _she tossed you to the curb?"

"Dude – right now? I really don't care." He sounds like he means it. "I have wasted enough of my time on her. It's like Baz says – she's cute and all, but there are lots of cute girls, and most of them? Are totally compost mental –"

(...Again – Casey seriously dated this guy?).

" – matter of fact, we are going to get drunk, and find some of those girls." He stops, then says, almost apologetically, "I'd ask you to come, but you're her stepbrother and – I kind of need to vent. No offence man – but you've got a conflict of interest."

(...that's one way to describe it).

Ten minutes later, and Derek's got the place to himself. He picks his cell phone, and makes his way down the list of contacts to Casey's name. But this time, he hits the call button. He gets her voicemail, but that's okay – he leaves a message.

And waits.


	8. Chapter 8

NOTES: So, yes...I really didn't want to write this part. (God, I'm embarrassed). Also, just to warn you - it is possible that this part will make you think the words 'shark', 'jumped' and 'the'...though not necessarily in that order. This...might not work for you. If so, my apologies. And if it doesn't work for you, I completely understand (personally, I only got through it because after this, it's almost OVER). :)

DISCLAIMER: I completely don't own anything LWD.

* * *

So he waits, his central nervous system hotwired to his cell ringtone. (It's a good ringtone –why wouldn't he be impatient to hear it...right about ten minutes ago?).

And waits.

It isn't until the next morning, when he hears (..._Ice Ice Baby?) _and his hand jerks, causing his frosted flakes to rain onto the floor, that he realizes the terrible truth.

His central nervous system is hotwired to _any _cell ringtone.

Jerry answers his phone, absently picking up the few frosted flakes that land on the table and crunching them, while Derek attends to the floor-flakes. There's a lot of 'Yeah' and 'Cool'ing before he hangs up.

"Turns out Zimmer's feeling the lack of hot-girl action in his life too," Jerry begins. (The guy answers to the non-name Zimmer. Should Derek be surprised?)

" – so we're hitting the clubs in a major way tonight – trying to score some love and affliction. You up for it?"

"I think I'll pass," he says. It's easier to hear his phone (not) ringing that way.

Jerry blows out a breath before running a hand over the back of his head. It's like watching a mime simulate 'thought'. (Derek restrains the urge to ask him to walk an invisible tightrope).

"Dude," Jerry says, "Things aren't going to be, like...weird between us, right?"

That...would be a first, considering the twilight zone relationship he, Derek and Casey have been involved in. He's got news for Jerry...they haven't just been visiting the neighbourhood of Weird – they've invested in property. (Though if Casey hadn't broken up with Jerry, Derek was contemplating a move to a box for one down Insanity Alley).

"– really hope not, because...dude, I'm not going to hold Casey against you," Jerry continues, earnestly.

(That's okay. He thinks he's done pretty well in the 'holding Casey against himself' department, actually).

" – mean, it's not like you share the crazy gene – you guys aren't even related, really," Jerry says, like he's imparting new information (when the one thing Derek's _always_ been sure of, is that he and Casey are not a feelgood family feature).

" – just wanted to...y'know, get things clear," Jerry says, and claps Derek on the shoulder (causing the recently re-bowled frosted flakes to cascade floorwards. Again).

They both consider the floor-flakes for a moment, before Jerry decides, "I'd better head. Later, man."

His feet crunch over the flakes. He stops at the door, and turns around, frowning. "By the way," he says, "have you seen my horse porn? I can't find it anywhere."

* * *

The next time it happens is in the cafeteria.

" – think she's starting to come around. She's stopped sending mean text messages anyway," Laura says, and takes a sip of water.

The eating together thing is new. And weird. (But way less weird than the sleeping together thing, so...) Derek uncaps his juice.

And Laura's phone rings.

"Oh for" –she rolls her eyes, and absently tosses some napkins across the table to him before she answers it.

He mops at the juice lake in the middle of the table (what? Her ringtone just ordered him to, "Fasten your seat belts – it's going to be a bumpy night"), while she says things like, "It's going to be fine," and "You've worked really hard on this – I'm sure that shows," and "If he doesn't, I will come to Vancouver and personally kick his ass, okay? I promise." She finishes with a, "Love you, too," then disconnects with a sigh.

"My boyfriend," she explains. "He's in the middle of this huge project and he's all stressed." She makes a face. "This is the seventh time he's called today."

He's glad he doesn't have that problem. It would be lame if Casey called that often.

(Or, at all, even).

"It's a good sign, I suppose. And it was cute – the _first_ couple of times he called..." she twirls her fork in her pasta salad.

"Have you" – Derek begins.

"Told him?"

He blinks (...yeah...that's exactly how he _wasn't_ going to finish that sentence).

She makes a face. "It's just – weird...you know?"

(He doesn't know. But girls never seem to get that that doesn't necessarily mean he _wants _to know). "I didn't mean" – he quickly crowbars in as soon as she takes a breath.

"No!" she interrupts again (if she's so hungry, maybe she could try that pasta salad, instead of swallowing the ends of his sentences). "That's okay...I guess you kind of have a right to know" –

(...and _she_ has the right to remain silent. Hasn't she ever seen a police procedural?). "That's really not what I" –

"What I mean is, we said – before college, we kind of agreed that – if anything happened with anyone else...we would tell each other."

"Great! That's...all the information I never really wanted," he looks around (shouldn't there have been a safety demonstration? In case of random emotional outbursts, can he utilize the nearest available emergency exit?).

"The thing is," she continues.

He fights the urge to grip his seat. It's just an unexpected pocket of emotional turbulence. (He can ride it out – he's lived with Casey, and she has frequent cryer miles).

"I never really expected it to be me. That I would have something to tell him." She bites her lip. "He's really great. Perfect, even. And I know I don't want to lose him."

He allows himself to hope for an end to the sharing (and a return to their regularly scheduled flight).

"Except" –

(Sudden loss of cabin pressure. He's hanging on by his fingernails, here)

"...okay, let's just say – the view from 'complicated' is pretty...compelling." She stares at him for a hair-raisingly uncomfortable moment, fidgeting absently with her fork. "Does that, um...answer your question?"

(Question?)

He retraces their route and finds, to his complete and utter lack of surprise, that there's been a missed connection. (Feelings Central is not marked on his itinerary).

She's still looking at him. Expectantly.

"Napkins," he says, slowly. "I wanted to know – have you got...any more napkins?" He gestures to the still-wet table, so that she knows he means _actual _napkins for the spilled juice, not...metaphorical napkins for the emotional leakage (she's managed to misinterpret things he never even said – he's not taking the risk).

"Oh," she says, and blinks. "Well...that definitely answers _my_ question." She makes an amused sound and holds up her hands. "Okay. _Objective_ appreciation of the view it is." She shrugs. "It's probably less stressful, anyway."

Her eyes on him are cool, assessing, and (kind of freaking him out, actually) he's relieved when her phone interrupts, and advises –

"Fasten your seat belts – it's going to be a bumpy night!"

* * *

So, Casey needs a committee meeting just to decide on a date outfit ("Does this say 'I feel confident enough about our spiritual and mental connection to disregard shallow social conventions and wear something that I feel comfortable in' or 'I don't care enough about you to make a real effort'?").

Why should this be any different? Coordinating a 'considering dating my stepbrother' ensemble is probably really time-consuming (and it's not like Casey is a big fan of plaid. She doesn't even own a pair of overalls).

(In a corner of his mind, she doesn't have his script in her hands, and she doesn't sear him with this look that's equal parts scepticism and 'no way in hell' and she definitely doesn't ask, "...what's my motivation, here, again?").

Because Casey's deliberating – it's what she does. (She's a regular twelve-person jury).

It's nothing personal.

(It just feels like it is).

* * *

So it's Friday night – and he's alone on the couch with the silence turned all the way up to eleven. (Turns out Casey can kill a room...without even being there).

When the doorbell rings.

He opens it, and she's there –right there in front of him, and that feeling hits him as he stands looking at her (the one that's like an enormous wave just smashing into him, almost knocking him sideways with the force of it...relief, he thinks it's called).

Casey blinks at him, and says, in a high voice, "Closure!"

(And the wave recedes).

He thinks he speaks for the whole freaking audience when he says, "What?"

"Closure," she repeats, and she brandishes the cardboard box she's holding at him. Peeking out of the top is one of Jerry's baseball caps. "I'm here for some closure."

Of course she is.

She's Casey.

(And it's not like she has _any other reason _for being on his doorstep).

It gives him a mean sense of satisfaction to say, "Well, Jerry's not here, so" –

"I can wait," she says, pushing past him to sit on the couch, box perched on her knees. She tilts her chin at him challengingly. "I need closure."

"Breaking up with him wasn't _enough_ closure for you?" he asks (and here's a thought – if she wants closure so much, maybe she should consider getting out of the _revolving door relationship_).

" – see it as an opportunity to resolve certain issues," Casey jabbers (...and there are times when Derek actually finds it hard to believe that she's a real person – because, seriously, who else sees a _break up_ as an opportunity to work harder on a relationship?)

" – open the channels of communication" – she lifts the box off her lap and places it on the floor.

(He didn't get a box).

" – figure out where I stand. Because that's important."

(Not even a token. Like a package of herbal teas or something).

" – feelings can be confusing and it's important to clarify any confusing" –

(Nothing. No acknowledgement that he's anything more than an embarrassing stain on her boringly spotless record).

"What do you - and I use this word loosely," she swallows, "– think?"

He _thinks _this feeling (like someone has knotted his insides like shoelaces) is just...amped up annoyance. (It's a completely normal reaction to finding out his...whatever-the-hell-Casey-is...rates her relationship with human-shaped-plankton above him).

"I think," he says, "that Jerry's still not here. As a matter of fact – he's out doing what normal people do to get closure. Staying as far away from you as possible, and trying to hook up with other girls," he clarifies (because according to Casey, clarity is important).

Casey reaches into the box and pulls out her _Guide to Messing with People's Heads (Second Edition)._

"I can wait." She opens the book and says, "Anyway, this is the perfect opportunity to engage in a little epistemology."

"Excuse you."

She pastes her most pitying expression on her face. "Epistemology means examining the evidence objectively in order to come up with an unbiased explanation of certain phenomena."

"Thanks for the explanation," he says. "Now I won't have to be embarrassed every time that never comes up in everyday conversation."

She looks at him, narrow-eyed, and says, "Do you feel that your early peer relationships have had an effect on your current value system?"

Great. He has his very own psycho. Babbling. (And he doesn't even remember entering that competition).

* * *

He tries ignoring her, and turns up the volume on the television, but the interrogation continues.

"What kind of statements do you prefer? Tentative preliminary statements, or final, unalterable statements?"

"The kind that shut you up," he offers. Casey flicks forward a few pages. "Interesting," she says, and he has to stop himself from digging his fingernails into his palms. (It just figures that the one time his bedroom might meet the criteria for neat, Casey decides she'd prefer to poke around in his filthy mind).

"Would you classify yourself as" –

"No," he says. Why would he – when Casey's obviously just itching to do it for him? (By the way, isn't she supposed to offer him cheese at some point? Lab rats have rights, too).

Obviously, that's the final straw, because she shuts her book with a snap. "How hard is it to answer a simple question?"

(Aside from the fact that none of her questions have been simple...) Is he supposed to be grateful that she's conducting stupid psychological tests to see if he's worthy of taking _Jerry's _place?

(What makes her think he's going to roll over and show his underbelly when she's got a scalpel in her hand?).

"How hard is it to understand the words 'Don't try to analyze me'?" he counters.

She shakes her head. "Like there's anything there to analyze," she mumbles. She gets off the couch. "You know what? It's getting kind of late. So, unless you have anything to say" –

He's out of his seat and blocking her exit before she even has a chance to finish.

"You're leaving?"

She folds her arms. "Unless you have something you want to" –

"I thought you weren't going without your...'closure'," he mimics.

"What?" she frowns in confusion.

"Closure. That _is_ why you spent the past hour epistolizing me off, right?"

"Right," she says weakly. "But – Jerry's not here..."

"Just think of me as his understudy." (Art imitating life).

She just looks at him. "What are you doing?" she asks quietly.

(Honestly...he's not entirely sure).

"You want closure...and I'm offering you a run-through with someone who understands basic English." He shrugs.

"_Very_ basic English," she qualifies. "And I don't think" –

(There's a first).

"Hey, if you're too scared to run your arguments past someone impartial" –

"You're _impartial_?" she asks disbelievingly.

"Completely."

There's a silence as they stare each other down. (Out of the corner of his eye, he swears he sees a tumbleweed blow past).

Then –

"Fine." She straightens up.

(It's a showdown).

They circle each other, and it feels familiar. He can almost pretend it's the usual 'this town's not big enough for the both of us' face off. (And it goes without saying that he's the outlaw in this scenario, and Casey's the sheriff...)

(So why is it always Casey's face on those 'Wanted' posters in his mind?)

Casey strikes first. "You're a really great guy – _Jerry,_" she emphasizes. "And I" –

"If I'm so great, why did you break up with me?"

She flinches (and he thinks he's scored a hit).

"I just...don't think we're – compatible. Jerry."

"Why not?" he asks. "If I'm such a 'great guy'."

"We – have very different goals," she tries. (Her shot goes wide).

"Then why did you say you thought we could 'go the distance'?"

(Another hit).

She doesn't even try this time (is she out of ammo?), just looks at him for a long moment.

"What are you – I don't know...what do you _want_?" her voice raises.

(He wants to rip that shiny silver star off her chest and show her how to live dangerously).

"Did you mean it when you said that?" he matches her tone (but his gun hand is completely steady as he lines up his shot). "Because breaking up with a guy a day later kind of" –

"What do you want me to say?" she interrupts in frustration. "That it was all a big lie? That I was only with you – _him_ – because I was –" she stops.

(He holds his fire, and waits).

One.

Two.

" – bored," she says finally, into the thick silence.

(It's not the exact answer he wanted, but...)

"It's a start," he manages, blindly reaching for her.

But she steps out of his grasp. "No," she says. Her eyes lock onto his, hard and sure, and he knows (no way is she going to miss this time). "You have to _tell me_ what you want."

After all that, she's still going to make him beg? (Will she give him a doggie treat if he does it right?).

"Do you want me to stay?" she asks, very slowly.

He stares at her in disbelief. (All he's missing is the leash).

She takes a step closer to him. "Do you want me to stay?" she repeats.

He balls his fists and tries not to breathe in her perfume.

Another step. "Do you want me to" –

He cracks. "Okay – stay!"

And even though he's done what she wanted, she immediately takes a step back.

"Okay," she says, and she sounds pissed off. "I get that you want something...but I'm not sure if it's me, or a golden retriever." She moves forward once more. "Why don't you try it again – with a hundre per cent less obedience school?"

This time, she's so close that her chest brushes his every time she takes a (steady, even) breath. He can feel the warmth of her body, teasing him (and it isn't fair that she can breathe normally, deep and calm, holding herself just a little bit apart from him, while his body is practically straining to get closer).

He wouldn't have thought it possible, but she ups the stakes. Her cheek touches his and she says, softly, "Ask. Just – just _ask_ me, Derek." And she nuzzles her face against his, like a cat, hair sweeping his cheek, his nose, her mouth grazing his ear.

He shuts his eyes and jumps. "Stay," he says scratchily. "Could – you could...stay."

There's just a second of freefall, before she pulls back (only a little), and nods, saying breathlessly, "I can – yeah, I can stay." She kisses his chin, the corner of his mouth. "I can" – she says again, and this time he kisses the words right out of her mouth.

* * *

It happens while they're on the couch, and he's kissing her ear, her neck, running his hands over every inch of her body, memorizing her by touch (..._classic male mistake is to rush through foreplay_...). Her breathing's coming fast and she's pulling him closer –when his hand slips in between the couch cushions and pulls out...

Jerry's tie.

It doesn't occur to him then...

(That's a lie).

...but he keeps hold of it. He loops it around Casey's waist, and uses it to tug her bedroomwards when she starts worrying that Jerry might come back early (..._biggest barrier to sexual pleasure is mental distraction..._).

* * *

And the thing is...he'd thought he was doing well. It was hard to remember the _Seven Things You Wish He Knew About Sex! _with a fully clothed Casey underneath him, but he'd forced himself to concentrate.

(Because whatever made Casey write him off without even a closure box had to be fixed).

But it's almost impossible to remember the _Seven Things..._when his body and Casey's are sliding together without _any_ clothes in the way. (He doesn't think he even remembers how to _count_ to seven at that point).

And Casey keeps trying to _touch_ him, slipping her hand downwards and (_God_,_ he wants her to touch him_) if she touches him, they'll be lucky if they have enough footage for a commercial, let alone a feature-film.

(This is his last chance to prove to her...)

So he makes a superhuman effort, and halts her progress (his body briefly considers looking for a new owner), then distracts her by bringing her hand to his mouth. He kisses her wrist and her palm before closing his lips over the tip of her index finger (..._focus on often neglected areas_...). Her eyes go wide and dark.

(Problem solved).

Except...she has two hands. And even when they're not trying to hone in on the obvious...they're stroking, and rubbing, and – _distracting _him.

So he catches both her wrists, and pins them over her head with one of his hands. He gropes around the bedspread with the other until he finds the tie.

"Um – what" – she asks nervously, struggling into a sitting position as soon as she sees –

The thing is...he's only just thought of it (that's another lie), but as soon as the idea snakes into his mind...it's like – something trips in his brain...like this is the only way to do it – a _requirement _of sex, instead of an optional extra.

So he kisses her, stoked impossibly high just by the thought, and he can't stop himself from asking, breathing out, "Please," against her skin (even though he knows she'll never), and "Trust me," (he'll laugh about that later. Maybe in fifty years time), and "I'll make it good," (yeah, this is totally going to cure world poverty and decrease crime rates!).

She looks at him, and he braces himself for the inevitable as she takes a deep breath.

"Okay," she says instead.

* * *

He knots the tie (carefully) around her wrists before threading it through the bars of his headboard. And then she's spread out underneath him... (and it's almost scary, the charge it gives him).

And it is easier. Not effortless, because when Casey's long, smooth legs wrap around his hips, or when her breasts slide against his chest, he gets these jolts of sensation that shock the game plan right out of his mind.

But he perseveres (he's not going to let her down), and he grits his teeth and pushes aside his own wants to turn the spotlight firmly on Casey.

So he trails his fingertips over her skin (stomach, and arms, and his index finger barely sliding down her breastbone) until she's panting (..._remember, positive anticipation is a huge part of what turns her on..._). Her back is arching off the bed and it's only the beginning (forget the cardboard box – after this, she's going to need a U-haul if she wants closure).

He makes her quiver around his tongue (..._try different kinds of strokes – circular, up and down, side to side..._), and his fingers (..._spiral slowly inwards with fingertips to drive her wild..._).

Until finally, he can't ignore the hot clasp of her thighs around his hips, or the urgent little gasps she makes that catch something in his chest. But he won't (he _can't_) unless...

He holds himself over her, just out of reach of the curve of her body. She strains upwards, her tied hands knotted into fists, and says (_moans_), "..._Derek_..."

(Remind him again why he's holding back?).

He bends his head, until he's eye-to-eye with her. "Ask me," he says.

She blinks at him, and licks her lips. He presses himself against her, just for a second, skin to skin (and his brain practically glazes over), before he pushes himself away again.

"Ask me," he repeats.

"What?" she says (but come on, she has to know). "_Derek..._" her left leg glides along his right one, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

"Say it," he almost whispers, staring down at her.

There's a long second where he thinks that she _won't_, but then she swallows, and closes her eyes, and says, "...please."

And then, finally (_finally_), he's inside of her, and moving and (_finally, finally_), he can let go.

* * *

Afterwards, his arms just refuse to hold him up, and he collapses next to her, head still ringing. She's still next to him, and so – there, and so – Casey (and he can hardly believe that she...).

Her face is turned away from him. "Hey," he offers, and he presses his forehead against the side of her jaw.

"...You can untie me now," she says, without moving her head.

A prickle of unease runs up his spine as he leans forward to do that. "Um...are your hands" – he starts, but she sits up as if she doesn't hear him.

"Are you" – he says, struggling into a sitting position, but she's already out of the bed and picking up her clothes, with this weird hunch to her back that...

(She doesn't want him to look at her).

" – okay?" he finishes as she closes the bathroom door behind her.

The adrenalin kicks in almost immediately, and he's out of the bed and throwing on his clothes. She went into the bathroom to get dressed.

(Something is wrong).

He waits outside the door, throat dry, until she emerges. She brushes past him as if she doesn't even see him. And he finds that he can't move for a moment, because Casey's got her light pink t-shirt on inside out.

(Oh fuck, this is bad).

"Casey!" Then he's chasing after her (and it's a handheld camera moment, shaky and spinning, and hard to tell exactly what's happening). She grabs her jacket from the back of the couch, and she's heading towards the door.

Just as she twists the handle, he catches up, and slams it closed with his palm.

"What's wrong?" he demands.

"Let me out," she says, pulling hard on the handle, and avoiding his eyes.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," he says, pressing more of his weight against the door. "Did I do something wr" –

"I want to go home," she interrupts. Her chin is jerking, and she's blinking a lot. (Oh. Fuck).

He puts his hand on her shoulder, spinning her to face him. "_Casey_. Did I hurt" –

She shoves him. Hard. He stumbles backwards into the small bookshelf to the left of the door, and he hears something fall behind him as he stares at her.

She looks back at him, and for a second, he thinks she's about to apologize.

"Leave me alone," she says finally.

The door closes behind her.

He stands in complete silence for a minute, before turning around to inspect the damage behind him. Nothing major. Just a few ornaments knocked off the shelves. He picks them up with numb fingers and replaces them.

Then he has to lean back against the wall, but even that doesn't help much, and he lets himself slide to the floor.

(Gut shot).

He sits on the floor for a while, just breathing in and out until the silence is screaming in his ears, and then he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and scrolls down his list of contacts (it takes a couple of tries to get the right one, because his fingers are suddenly clumsy). Finally, he gets the right one, and presses the call button.

He's ready to hang up if it's not –

"Hey, Smarti," he says, and swallows (the key is to keep it short). "How are things?"

And he pulls his knees up to his chest, and closes his eyes and listens to his sister's excited voice (and hopes he'll stop feeling like he's bleeding out anytime soon).


	9. Chapter 9

Notes: Oh God. I'm sorry I ever apologized for any previous chapters. Clearly, I should have been saving it for _this _chapter. Warning - Here Be Dragons (...and OCs).

Disclaimer: Read this chapter. Then you won't even need to ask.

* * *

So, in this dream, he's with Casey. And then he's not.

(And how lame is it that even his subconscious is following her stupid stage directions?)

Then he's walking, hockey stick in one hand and his bag in the other, and there's nothing to stop him when he stumbles and starts to fall.

It's a typical dream-fall, slow motion – he's tumbling through dense, soft air, but powerless to stop. Usually, the anticipation's the worst – because even though the impact jars, the pain is conspicuously absent.

This time though, his hockey stick smacks him in the face, hard, as he goes down. His hand comes up to cup his mouth, and when he takes it away (he doesn't want to, but he can't stop himself), the mess is worse than he imagined.

He stares numbly down at the jumble of teeth in his palm (stomach-heavingly white and small, and _so many_) and feels his mouth start to fill with blood. He's frozen – he doesn't want to have to open his lips (...oh fuck, his _gums_...) to spit, and there's no way he can swallow it. Except it's flooding into his mouth, so much blood that he can't hold it, and it starts to slip down his throat, choking him, making him cough and jerk and...

He wakes to find his mouth filling with saliva, and he makes a mad dash for the bathroom. He's just in time, clutching the toilet seat as he retches and the contents of his stomach turn out to be...not-so-content (and also, not so much inside his stomach anymore).

Afterwards, he closes his eyes and takes short, fast breaths, until his stomach unclenches, and he can get up. He rinses his mouth and splashes his face (and does his best to avoid meeting the eyes of the guy in the mirror).

He staggers out of the bathroom – and suddenly he's the star of a gross out comedy.

There's a girl on the couch busily buttoning up her shirt, while Jerry stares soulfully at her chest and says, "Please – don't feel like you have to" –

" – should go," she says firmly, speaking over him. She looks up and catches Derek's eye, and grimaces.

(...that seems about right).

"So, uh, this is Derek. My room-mate," Jerry says, scrambling off the couch, as the girl slings her handbag over her shoulder.

She aims a tight smile in his direction and holds up her palm in a half hearted wave, obviously to avoid having to make physical contact of any kind with him.

(Yeah. He gets that a lot lately).

" – and this is Natalie."

"I've heard a lot about you," Natalie says, standing up and brushing at her jeans. "Actually, I think I might have heard...a little too much, so, if you don't mind...?" she gestures at Jerry to move out of her way.

"No! Look – Derek's totally done puking! Isn't that right, D?" he swings around and nods frantically at Derek (as whatever remains of the romantic moment begins whimpering in a corner).

He has to hand it to Jerry – even though he doesn't stand a chance in hell of turning it around. The guy is _focused_.

He flaps his hands urgently until Derek says, finally, "Yeah. I'm...good." (The romantic moment begins bleeding from the eyes).

"See?"

Natalie stares at him in disbelief. "Okay," she says slowly. "Well, relieved as that makes me – and I'm sure, Derek – feel...I'm still leaving."

She turns and marches away.

"Can I call you?" Jerry calls after her. His shoulders slump as she exits with the ever-popular door slam.

The silence is broken when he throws himself back onto the couch with a half-groan, half-sigh. He looks up at Derek with wounded eyes.

"Dude – nothing personal...but right now, there are no words for how much you suck."

(Try telling him something he doesn't already know).

* * *

The next day...happens. Not that he thought it wouldn't or anything.

(Turns out the world actually doesn't revolve around him).

It's strange – it's nothing like a flashback. Because he's _there, _on the couch, in his bed, Casey in front of him and underneath him and avoiding his eyes while he's staring (freaked out doesn't begin to describe it) at the seams of her pink t-shirt.

He's _there, _and it's still happening, over and over in not-so-glorious Technicolor...while in real time, his lecture crawls by, sepia-tinted.

He's still there, and he can hear Casey loud and clear in surround sound ("_You can untie me now_"), but when Laura (right next to him), asks him something – it's like her words are out of sync, badly dubbed, and he has to strain to hear her.

He feels weird, hot and cold at the same time, and when he finally understands that Laura's inviting him for something to eat, his stomach mounts an immediate protest (he can practically feel the tiny pickets digging into his stomach lining).

" – wrong?" she says faintly.

Even though he gives a half-truthful explanation ('stress' is totally his new pet name for Casey), she looks at him in disbelief.

"Stress?" she repeats. "So coasting on charm is harder than it looks? Yeah. That makes perfect sense. You and stress, you go together like peanut butter and jelly" –

(To her credit, she immediately realizes that the food-metaphor is a mistake).

" – really green. Wow. I'm completely the opposite – show me a crisis and I go carb-loading." She regards him with interest. "I wish that would happen to me whenever I get stressed."

"No. You don't," he says flatly. (A stomach full of battery acid is no way to start the day).

She looks at him for a long moment. "Maybe not," she agrees.

She fades out at this point, leaving Derek to hop into his mental De Lorean and reverse all the way back to...

(...skin. His skin touching Casey's bare skin all over – too much and still nowhere near enough. Her wrists in one hand, and the cool smoothness of the tie in the other, and his mouth just beginning to shape the word 'please'...)

...before he's yanked back to the future again.

" – kind of peace offering it'll be if you puke on her... Are you even listening to me?"

(It's not his fault – the sound guy's messing with the audio).

She sighs, then says, without waiting for an answer, "You look like crap. Go home."

* * *

Usually, everything – however great, or boring, or in-between – at least happens smoothly, fluidly (at the normal rate of 24 frames per second).

Not this time. (There's a glitch in his equipment, or some major scratching on the DVD, because the day keeps stuttering and skipping).

He lurches from freeze-frame to freeze-frame until eventually, (in a shocking plot _un_twist) he ends up in front of Casey's door.

He looks at it for a minute, before he reaches out and rings the bell. And time snaps back to not-exactly-normal.

He can hear her as she unlocks the door. "...told you both already – I'm fine. I don't need any...Derek!" she finishes, trailing off as she comes face to face with him.

(Yeah – he's kind of getting that impression).

She folds her arms. "What do you want?" she asks. She sounds subdued but she aims a hard stare at his...shoes.

He blinks.

"Well?" (Her eyes don't lift from the ground).

"...your book," he blurts into the silence. "You forgot your book. Yesterday."

As statements go, it's completely true (...but that doesn't make it the Truth).

Her head jerks up and she looks at him. "Oh," she says.

There's a fidget-filled silence, broken by, "Did – do you have it?"

He stares blankly at her. (Recent events would suggest that he's lost _It..._if he ever even had _It _where Casey was concerned).

"My book," she says, eventually. Expectantly.

He glances down at his empty hands. (Oh. That). "I...didn't bring it."

"You didn't bring it," she repeats, back to giving his shoes the third degree. She closes her eyes and shakes her head a little, disbelievingly, before saying, "Okay, well if that's all, I really have to" –

Her hand is already coming up to the door handle when the words force themselves out.

"About...what happened last night" –

She goes very still.

He jams his hands into his pockets, but he keeps going. "Look – I know things got a little...intense" –

He swallows, and Casey makes this short sharp noise– a snort of laughter, but with all the humor amputated (without anaesthetic, by the sound of it). Her eyes whip-flick to his for a moment before she focuses on something in the distance.

"Okay," she says. "Fine." She clears her throat, and says flatly, "Derek Venturi, you are a sex-god. You blew my repressed little mind. Obviously, you're just...too wild for a plain- vanilla girl like me to handle. Satisfied?"

She doesn't give him a chance to reply. Before he can even take a breath, her eyes meet his.

She looks at him (really looks at him) and says in a small voice, "I didn't like it."

(... ... ...)

The thing is, okay, he's Derek Venturi...but he _has_ lost things before – contests, hockey games, arguments. (Funny though – he doesn't remember defeat ever feeling like this).

(He doesn't remember _anything _feeling like this).

This time, it's the visuals that cause the problem. He keeps zooming in jerkily, for these weird, out of context close-ups. A section of her hair, her left shoulder, the design on the right pocket of her sweatpants. Then without warning, he zooms out, into an extreme long shot (he's pulled so far back, he's filming from grade one).

"...okay," he hears himself say, while he's pretending that this is _exactly_ as humiliating as failing grade one and not (...worse...), "...that's – um...that's..."

It's hard to speak (when his chest feels like a squeezed out concertina, and he knows that she didn't...doesn't...)

"We're not taking any of the same classes," she says suddenly, eyes glued to the door jamb. "We...don't really have to see each other at all."

Before he can think of anything to say (just add improv to the growing list of things he sucks at), she steps back and closes the door. Softly, but definitely.

And he gets it.

(This is closure).

* * *

When he gets home, Jerry's poring over Casey's break-up box, a confused look on his face (good to know that some things never change).

"Seriously, D," he calls out as Derek hangs up his jacket, "She returned a napkin. Who returns a _napkin_?"

(...Casey).

"Who keeps a _napkin_ as a – a _souvenir_ in the first place?"

(...still Casey. Unless she's hanging out with Derek, of course. No souvenirs required then).

"Some of this stuff though...I don't think it's mine. I don't _remember_ it, anyway," Jerry continues, squinting at...a brochure for office supplies. He looks up as a thought strikes him. "Hey – you don't think she was seeing someone else, do you?"

* * *

So, he has this fantasy.

It's pretty tame (PG-13 at the most).

There are no bells or whistles.

No costumes, or dirty talk, or _ties_.

Just him. And Casey. And a bed. And sometimes there's sex, and sometimes it doesn't even get that far, but the one thing that's always the same is that he never asks her to stay. (Why would he need to ask...when it's a given that she will?)

(Yeah. He knows _exactly_ how unrealistic it is).

* * *

Derek's reached the finish line of enough relationships to know how the next part goes. And there's no reason for this one to be any different.

Yeah, usually he's the one running flat out, trying to top his best (worst) times (gold medallist Derek Venturi setting yet another relationship wreck-ord) – but it's not like Casey's the first girl to ever outstrip him on the field.

Though, usually when girls break up with him it's for a whole jumble of reasons (" – a voucher?! My eighty year old grand-aunt who lives in Birmingham, and who I haven't seen since I was _three _gave me a more personal present!"/" – can't believe you didn't remember...I've only been talking about it all week!"/" – if you were listening, you'd be able to tell me the last thing I said") that ultimately all boil down to Derek not trying hard enough. Like if he cared enough, put a little more effort in, he'd stop hating gift-shopping, and he wouldn't forget concert dates for crappy bands, and he'd stop zoning out in the middle of conversations about...(yeah, he still can't remember that one). Like 'trying harder' was the rope needed to bind Derek and 'Insert Name Here' forever in a three-legged marathon of togetherness.

This time, he practically turned himself inside out trying and ("_I didn't like it_") it didn't change anything. (It didn't even prolong the race). That's maybe a little different – but not much, not when the end result is the same. And since the end result _is_ the same, he knows what happens next.

He gets over it.

(He doesn't expect it to take that long. It never has before).

* * *

It's the one where Casey shows up at his door, breathless, and the first thing she says is –

"You're here. Good!" (Yeah, it's a dream). She tosses her coat onto the couch and starts unbuttoning her shirt, businesslike. "I've been thinking about the routine."

He watches her fingers moving quickly, exposing more and more skin. She shrugs off the shirt, then frowns at his lack of movement and says, "How do you expect to impress the judges if you don't nail me?"

(Even his subconscious knows that this is a really bad idea).

"...Okay," he says. Well, it's not like he's known for his good judgment in the waking world (hey, at least he's in character).

Even though the editing is full of jump cuts, it's hazily good. His mouth on her collarbone, his hands gripping her thighs – Casey moaning breathily in his ear and the tingling rush as he arches his back and just...explodes...

He wakes up panting, with a familiar churning in his gut. He throws off the covers.

As he's...finishing up, Jerry appears and leans against the door frame.

"So...the daily prayer to the porcelain god," he muses, "a disgusting, but effective wake-up call."

Derek spits one last time. (Casey might not have broken his heart, but she's definitely lacerated his stomach).

"Seriously, dude – it's been a week. You should get that checked out."

"M'fine," he mumbles. Which is almost true. It's creepy and gross to be getting off on dreams of Casey, who ("_I didn't like it_") isn't interested – but he's pretty sure that the new association of hot-Casey-dream with subsequent dry-heaving will take care of that problem. Eventually. (He's even going to name the inevitable stomach ulcer Casey, in her honor).

Plus, it's not like she's the only person he's having sex-dreams about. Two nights ago he dreamt that he was in Smelly Nelly's with Laura, who spent a long time examining her menu before announcing that she wanted to try a number five. "Isn't that your specialty, Derek?" she asked, shimmying out of her jeans.

"I don't think" – he began.

She frowned. "I thought the customer was always right?" She folded her arms and sliced him with a look. "Now are you going to give me what I asked for, or am I going to have to call the owner?"

(...he never said the other dreams were _good_ sex dreams).

Anyway, most of the time he doesn't remember his dreams, not even the ones where he wakes up aching.

(It's progress).

* * *

To an audience, it probably looks like Casey's the reason behind his sudden, perpetual pissiness. But that's not true – his bad mood is only related to Casey in the smallest of ways. Mainly, he's pissed about the fact that his life is stalled at the crappy montage segment. See, he's going about his normal, non-Casey related activities – not-listening during lectures (it's a random coincidence that all his lecturers have voices that sound like Nyquil), pouring his half-finished cereal down the sink (the milk tastes weird. Not sour, just...weird), tossing Jerry's stupid play under the couch when he sees it on the coffee table (who _wants_ to be reminded of some guy who's got a Saddle Club fixation?)...but despite the fact that none of these things has anything to do with her, the accompanying soundtrack is stuck on 'Angsty Breakup'.

His life is currently set to 'She Said It Was Over'. The _Casey_ version. (Is it any wonder he's borderline homicidal?)

It makes him do stupid things. Like...

" – thought you were going to be, you know, _out_ this evening. Like we _talked about_ earlier?" Jerry says, raising his eyebrows significantly, and gesturing between Derek, the door, and the girl sitting on the couch, hands clasped around her knees. (The only possible way Jerry could be less subtle is if he was wearing a sandwich board with 'Hoping to score tonight!' written across it).

"Yeah – change of plans," Derek says.

"Again," Jerry notes.

Derek shrugs, then plops down onto the couch next to the girl-whose-pants-Jerry-finds-so-interesting.

"Is this a bad time?" she asks, looking at Jerry. "I mean, I can go – I'd hate to intrude" –

"No! No!" Jerry reassures her. "You're not intruding, Fi! I'm sure Derek will be going to his room any second now." He stares at Derek. "Need a hand getting up, dude?"

"Nah – I'm good," Derek says at the same time that Fi jumps in with – "Oh, you don't have to leave...if you don't want to. We're just going to watch a movie – nothing heavy...I mean, you're welcome to join us. Only if you want, of course," she hastily clarifies.

"I'm sure Derek has other things to do – right D?"

Derek considers. "Actually no." He turns to Fi and smiles widely, insincerely. "A movie sounds – great."

"Oh. Well – good!" she says.

He slumps back on the couch and folds his arms. "So, what're we watching?"

It turns out they're watching an action movie – heavy on the martial arts. "I love all that Jackie Chang stuff," Fi lies. She winces as a guy slams through a glass coffee table. "It's like...art. But with sticks and really really unnecessary violence." She pastes on a smile (and Derek thinks maybe Jerry would have gotten lucky tonight after all).

After the movie finishes though, she only stays for a few minutes of awkward silence before she makes her excuses.

"Are you sure? Because you're totally welcome to stay," Jerry says.

Her eyes dart from Jerry to Derek, and back. She shakes her head. "No, I really should go. Early start tomorrow. Another time, maybe?" She smiles hopefully.

"Yeah, definitely," Jerry agrees, as he walks her out.

A few minutes later he's back, and –

"Dude – _what_ is your problem?"

Derek keeps channel hopping. "What'd I do this time?"

"You mean, what did you do _again._ I was kind of banking on having the place to myself."

"Yeah, well, it's my place too," Derek points out.

"I was _trying_ to spend some quality time with Fiona – and you just, like, barged in and made everything awkward."

"You could have gone to your room."

Jerry stares at him. "Dude...you were _right there, _and you can't just ask..."

"But hey – if she's the kind of girl you can't even ask a simple question without being afraid she's going to freak out and go all _female _on you, and not even give you a chance to explain" – he lowers his suddenly too-loud voice, and continues more calmly. "You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Jerry repeats. He shakes his head slightly, and his voice isn't friendly as he says, "Dude, I gotta warn you – this isn't funny anymore."

(Really? Because Derek sure feels like a punchline).

Jerry's breathing hard and his fingers keep clenching and unclenching.

(Obviously, it would be in his best interests to back down)

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Derek asks, balling his hands into fists at his sides. After all, he's _scrappy_ (...and Jerry's Scooby-freakin'-Doo on steroids).

Jerry closes his eyes for a long second (Derek uses this time to mentally write his will). When he opens them, he stares right at Derek and says grimly, "You know what, man? You are really lucky that I am a pacificist."

Then he stomps past, and grabs his jacket. He doesn't even pause to put it on, just keeps going, slamming the door on his way out.

(Yeah, he's _lucky_ all right).

Derek kicks the couch, hard.

* * *

Despite the fact that Jerry's still mad a few days later (he's using the 'freeze-out' technique so effectively Derek's half-convinced their place has relocated from Toronto to Alaska), it's something totally different that finally makes him snap.

He's already sitting when Laura slides in next to him, slightly out of breath and already pulling out her notebook and a pen.

"And how's the cute mess today?" she asks absently.

The question throws him – but that's because he doesn't expect her to ask about Casey. (Which means that he isn't thinking about Casey. Which is a sign of progress). He bends over, and starts rooting in his bag. He keeps his face averted as he says, casually, "I haven't seen her in a while."

When he does look up, she's got her head tilted to the side and is scrutinising him carefully. "Actually, I was talking about you," she says.

She drags him to the cafeteria afterwards. "Come on," she insists, "It'll be fun."

Weirdly, it almost does sound like fun. More fun than any of Derek's latest activities of choice (not-listening to lectures, not-eating cereal, hiding horse porn, not-not-pissing off his room-mate) anyway.

It all goes okay until –

"Miranda – hey!" Laura smiles up, while the other girl offers a cooler, "Hello."

"You – uh, you know Derek," Laura says, gesturing across the table to him. He raises a hand in half-assed greeting.

"Yeah. I remember." She smiles too-widely at him.

"Hey – why don't you join us?" Laura asks.

Miranda examines her watch. "Oh...actually, I can't. I'm meeting someone in a few minutes."

"Pity. Okay. Well, I was thinking maybe we could do something later – catch a movie, or go out for coffee or something?"

"I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. I don't know whether the trust has been sufficiently rebuilt. Have you even written in that truth-journal I gave you?"

Laura rolls her eyes. Very slowly she says, "Why don't you swing by later and you can find out for yourself?"

Miranda considers it. "Okay," she agrees. Then she turns to Derek. "You're probably wondering what that's about."

(...depends on how loose her definition of 'wondering' is).

"There's a perfectly simple explanation" –

"No, there isn't," Laura mutters, and makes a face at Derek.

" – tension lately. So Laura's working on repairing the damage and reshoring the trust walls she destroyed with her actions. If she does a good job I just _might_ forgive her for stealing that...sweater...I wanted."

She stares at Derek for a long uncomfortable moment.

"Aren't you meeting someone?" he hints.

She starts. "Oh. Yeah. Well...I guess I'll...see you around then?" She nods and takes two steps backwards before turning around properly and leaving.

"Truth-journal," Laura says, and shakes her head in exasperation. Then she focuses on Derek. "But, on the bright side – she still totally wants to try you on for size. So how about I arrange a changing room for you two and you can start...hugging her curves." She raises her eyebrows at him.

"What?" (There's no way she's trying to hook him up with crazy cheese girl)

"Okay – I know she comes off a little psycho...fine, she _is_ a little psycho – but she's also kind of hot. Plus, you'd really be helping me out – otherwise, I'm going to be doing stupid trust exercises for the rest of my natural life. And believe me, I'm not exaggerating – when I was six, I broke one of her dolls, and she _still_ brings it up every once in a while."

He just stares at her as she takes a bite of her sandwich and chews, totally unconcerned. "So? What do you say?"

He doesn't know _what_ to say. (Though "_I'm not a fucking sweater_" comes to mind).

He's spared from having to say anything though, because suddenly –

"Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy" –

She flicks her phone open. "Hey there!" she says warmly into it. "How are you?"

There's a moment of silence before she smiles and says, "That is so great, hun!"

She winks at Derek and holds up a finger to show she'll only be a minute...and it's then that he figures it out.

_It's different for girls_, he realizes, as he watches Laura talk unconcernedly to her boyfriend while smiling across the table at the guy she cheated on him with. (Like none of it – boyfriend, one night stand, means anything at all).

It's _different_ for girls – it must be. They're able to hold back, keep their feelings all tidy and manageable. (He has a sudden vision of Casey as a girl-shaped jewellery box, opening up into all these separate, orderly compartments).

Meanwhile, _he's_ still totally hung up on her. (He's _so_ hung up on her he practically hears a dial tone every time he thinks about her).

Laura puts her phone down on the table, and turns all her attention to Derek. "So," she says. "About you and Miranda" –

It's different for girls. He gets it. (That doesn't mean he has to be _happy_ about it).

"Did you tell him yet?" he asks suddenly.

Laura blinks. "Um...what?"

"Your boyfriend. Did you tell him about us?"

"No," she says. "No – I, uh, didn't get around to it." She looks down at the table.

He looks interested. "Really?" he says, maybe overdoing the surprise a little (a lot). "Because I thought you guys had some kind of pact or something."

She bites her lip, and he feels meanly victorious, but that only lasts for a moment, before she faces him head on, and says, "Okay, Derek – maybe you'd like to tell me what this is _really _about – since the one thing I'm willing to bet on? Is that this hissy has got nothing to do with me."

She stares at him for a minute, and even though he's got his best poker face on, she has to have seen something, because she folds her arms and sits back, totally in control. "Hey, if you want to try and make me feel bad about something that _clearly_ doesn't matter to you – feel free. Take your best shot." She spreads her arms wide, and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from doing just that. "I mean, if _I _were you, I'd be trying to fix whatever the hell's been bugging you for the past two weeks. But that's just the perspective of a normal, rational person. Feel free to disregard it and roll with your own coping mechanism. Because that's obviously working out so well for you."

He gets to his feet, stonewalling her, concentrating on not snapping back, not letting loose (his cork's in way too tight, and if it pops, the whole bottle's going to blow).

That doesn't stop Laura, who calls after him as he walks away, "Oh, and in case I forget to say it later – thanks. I mean, obviously I'd heard it, but I never really _got it_ until you showed me. The view from complicated? Way over-rated."

* * *

Later (a lot later), he's lying on his bed, still fizzing with suppressed temper, when he hears the door open and close. (Which is good, because if he has to spend another minute in tooth-grinding silence, he's almost certain his head will explode).

He listens as the shower starts up, and waits until he hears it shut off. Then he pads to the door of his bedroom and opens it. He waits until Jerry emerges in a mushroom cloud of body spray.

"Hey," he offers.

Jerry grunts.

"You going out tonight?"

"Yeah," he says coolly. Derek doesn't move – instead, he instigates a stare-down.

Jerry cracks first (He should call Lizzie – he's sure she'd be interested in finding out just how fast Arctic ice melts). "Yeah," he says again, sounding defeated – actually, Derek's surprised he's managed to hold onto his grudge this long (for a novice, he's got potential). "Baz wants to go to this party – he wants to meet up with some girl. Me and Zim said what the hell."

"Sounds like fun," Derek says. "What time do we leave?"

Jerry wrinkles his forehead. "_You_ want to come?"

(He doesn't want to stay here).

"Hey, it's been a while since we hung out," he says, aiming a punch at Jerry's shoulder. "What time?"

He knows from Jerry's narrowed eyes that this isn't the best way to fix things (he's stomping over the recently singed bridge with a can of gasoline in one hand and a match in the other) – but Derek's gambling on Jerry being a _pacificist _(plus he's not feeling picky. Fight/party...either way, it'll get him out of his head).

Jerry examines him for a long second, then runs a hand through his hair before he says, reluctantly, "Yeah. Okay."

* * *

They go to this party, him, and Jerry, and Baz (who drives), and Zimmer – who brings along his new girlfriend, who happens to be a friend of the girl Jerry didn't hook up with on the night ("_You can untie me now_") that Derek is definitely not thinking about.

(The party's already off to an awesome start!).

It doesn't help that the girl would rather be anywhere else. " – just so loud...maybe we could find a quieter party?"

"Great idea. Let's go where the action _isn't_," Derek mutters. Jerry shoots an annoyed glance at him, before turning to Zimmer's girlfriend.

"Hey, uh, I'm just wondering...does Natalie ever talk about me?"

Zimmer's girlfriend's eyes flick over him. "Yeah," she says, pityingly.

It gets worse. Zimmer's girlfriend keeps making noises about wanting to leave and go back to her place. Zimmer's down with the idea and Jerry –

"Will Natalie be there?" he asks hopefully.

– Jerry's open to being persuaded. Baz digs his heels in, although the girl he's shadowing hasn't even looked at him, but the general feeling is shifting towards making an early exit. Derek finds a seat and pretends not to notice.

The whole thing with Zimmer's girlfriend doesn't help his mood. Or Jerry's. Plus Baz and Zimmer keep introducing him to all these people he has no interest in talking to.

Like this guy who, like Jerry, is into martial arts, and takes the opportunity to Tae-bore the pants off Derek.

"Yeah, I'm not really into the whole..." he makes kung-fu gestures with his hands, "schtick," he says when the guy pauses for breath.

"Oh," he says. "I guess I figured a friend of Jerry's would – "

"I've told Derek he should try it – but I guess he's not that kind of _guy_," Jerry interrupts. He pauses for a second, as if a thought is just occurring to him, and Derek tenses, waiting for the blow he knows is coming.

"Although," and Jerry keeps up the amiable facade, smiling as he pile-drives him, "between the permanent PMS, and the morning sickness...I'm kind of starting to doubt his credentials. Hey, D," he slaps him on the back, causing Derek's drink to slosh out of the glass and over his fingers, "Why don't you get back in touch when you locate your balls?"

(...and the cork pops, and all this frustration just comes _frothing out_).

Derek gets to his feet, hands already clenching in readiness, but Jerry shakes his head. "Dude – you're not serious."

(...and yeah, most of it's got nothing to do with Jerry, but he makes a great target. For a suicide mission).

He takes a step towards him. "Oh _God_," Zimmer's girlfriend complains (obviously annoyed that she's going to have to watch Derek get beaten to a bloody pulp).

"And even if you are," Jerry continues, "I don't usually fight. And I definitely won't be making an exception for a chick like you."

"Nice excuse," Derek says. He reaches out with a finger and pokes Jerry in the chest (his finger bends backwards. This is going to _hurt_). "Because I'd hate for you to get your ass kicked."

(He wonders how many teeth he's going to have left after this).

Zimmer puts a hand on Jerry's arm. "Dude," he says in a low voice. "Come on."

Jerry looks at Derek for a long moment before he turns. "You know what?" he says to Zimmer's girlfriend, "You're right. This party...sucks. Let's get out of here." He looks at Baz. "You coming?"

Baz shakes his head. "Staying."

"Suit yourself, man," Jerry shrugs, already walking away.

* * *

" – not choosing sides, okay?" Baz says, fifteen minutes later, steering Derek towards the centre of the room. "Hey – why don't we stand over here?"

He pulls his cuffs down, and stares intently over Derek's shoulder. "I mean – yeah, Jerry's my friend, but you – you seem like a cool guy too."

Derek looks at him sceptically.

" – seem like the kind of guy who would hook up a friend with that totally hot girl who keeps looking at you. Or that other totally hot girl you're ignoring. I'm not fussy." He sighs. "Just – stand there and be bait, okay?"

Be bait. He can do that. (Good to know his experience of dangling on someone else's hook will come in useful).

So Baz scopes out girls while standing next to him (like Derek's the bargain rail in a clothing store). But maybe there's a flaw in his plan, because it isn't until Baz goes to the bathroom that the girl standing nearby strikes up a conversation.

"Okay, you've got my attention," she says suddenly.

He glances over at her.

"The ignoring me thing? I'm intrigued. So...you can drop the act."

She's tiny, with shiny hair and an air of self-confidence. (He suddenly feels tired).

"And what if I said it wasn't an act?"

She blinks for a second, thrown. But she recovers quickly. "Then...I guess I'd say I know a great guy called Ethan you might hit it off with."

He smiles, almost in spite of himself. She's looking back at him, head tilted, and all the bubbling discontent and frustration and need to do_ something_ come together in a simmering mess, and make him snap all his attention onto her.

She's not anything like Casey (but this isn't supposed to be about Casey, anyway).

Baz returns and puts an arm on his shoulder. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" he asks.

"Christina Li," she says, immediately. "And you are...?"

"Baz," he replies, but she's not looking at him. "And that's Derek," he says, with a sigh and a jerk of his thumb.

It's at this point that someone stumbles against Derek, causing him to lurch forward and spill his drink down Christina's top. She yelps and pushes him back, hands coming up to clutch at her dripping (and now transparent) white top.

"Oh, this is just _perfect_," she says, sounding supremely pissed off.

Derek opens his mouth to apologize, but before he has a chance to say anything, she suddenly morphs into a nine foot tall guy with fair hair.

Derek blinks.

"I saw that," the guy says accusingly, and shoves him backwards.

(Just to set the scene, there's a table behind him)

His head makes a dull smacking sound when it whacks against the corner.

* * *

So there's pain followed by floor (Derek's mostly focused on the feeling that someone's shaken his brain like a rattle though).

Suddenly, this girl's in front of him and saying something about fingers...but it's kind of hard to concentrate on her when the soundtrack to his life is playing at high volume.

" – trying to do you a favor!"

"So ruining my life counts as a favor now?"

(Oh, wait – that's that girl and the guy who shoved him).

" – just trying to help out!"

"Well next time you want to help, why don't you pour gasoline over yourself and set yourself on fire!" she says, voice going shrill and wobbly towards the end of the sentence.

(Harsh).

"I didn't mean to..." the guy says, trailing off.

(Maybe it's just a side effect of the head injury, but Derek gets a sympathetic twinge in his stomach for the guy. He sounds like he's been gut-punched when he says "I didn't mean to...").

" – fingers am I holding up?" the girl leaning over him asks. She looks up at someone (oh, there's Baz...and a whole bunch of other people). " – seems confused. We should probably take him to the emergency department."

"I'm fine," he protests, struggling upwards.

"Take it easy," she cautions. "You banged your head really hard."

(No shit).

"Yeah, but I'm fine now," he says, speaking over the squeaks of pain inside his head.

She presses her lips together. "You should really get it checked out."

Derek opens his mouth.

"Dude," Baz says firmly, "We're taking you to the hospital. I'll get your jacket." He strides off purposefully, only to double back to the girl's side a second later.

"Uh – Baz, by the way."

"Gemma," she says, holding out her hand.

"Cool," he says, taking it.

(The pain in Derek's head intensifies).

* * *

In spite of his protests, he's hustled out of the house and in the direction of Baz' car.

" – sure you're okay to drive?" the girl asks.

"Oh yeah," Baz says. "Soft drinks only – designated driver, here."

"Great!" she smiles.

"Hey!" comes a voice from behind them. They turn, and it's the screaming girl. She comes to a stop a few feet away from Derek.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

(He just got humiliated in front of a crowd, by an inanimate object. He's the opposite of okay).

"I'm fine," he says.

"Oh, good," she says, and fidgets on her high heels. "Um. So Andy's an asshole. Obviously. And I shouldn't even..." she blows out an exasperated breath. "You're not going to get him into trouble, are you? He's an asshole, but he didn't mean it."

She looks tense, and her eye makeup is all smeared (and maybe, just maybe, there's more to the story).

"It was a misunderstanding," he says.

"Thanks." She smiles at him for a second, before producing a piece of paper. "So, you could call me. Let me know how it goes in the hospital. And, um, I could buy you a drink sometime. If you promise to bring a sippy cup." She smiles again, and presses the paper into his hand.

(Or maybe it's just...different for girls).

He lets the paper fall to the ground as soon as she turns her back.

"Dude – you must've hit your head really, really hard," Baz says in concern. "Come on, the car's over here."

* * *

The condensed version of the hospital visit goes –

1) Attempted flirting as Baz crunches the gears and Gemma pretends not to wince at the sound.

2) Waiting on hard hospital chairs. Attempted flirting over Derek's possibly concussed body.

"I'm going to be sick," he mutters (after Baz says something about girls who are quick-thinking as well as...um, pretty).

"Oh – that's a bad sign," Gemma says worriedly, attention snapping back to Derek

3) Stupid questions –

"What's your name?"

"Where are you?"

"Three things – cat, ball, flower – can you remember that?"

"I'm going to say some numbers – do you think you can repeat them backwards?"

4) Stupid tests –

"...pupils are the same size..."

"...close your eyes and touch your nose with your finger..."

"...want you to walk in a straight line for me..."

5) Diagnosis –

"...possible concussion...rest...paracetamol...monitor for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

And then it happens.

"Dude, I was thinking maybe I should take Gemma, and get her a non-alcoholic beverage of her choice to thank her on your behalf."

"You really don't have to..." she says.

"No, I totally want to," he insists, before turning to Derek. "But don't worry...want you to know...arranged everything and called..."

Derek's heart starts thumping hard as Baz hands over his cell phone (..._that was inside his jacket pocket_...). His lips are numb as he says, "Tell me, _tell me_ you did not call Casey!"

Baz blinks at him. "No, man, I called Jerry."

He closes his eyes in relief, only to snap them open when –

"You should see the look on your face! I mean – _Jerry?_" he laughs. "The doctor said a _responsible _person. Of course I called Casey!"

Oh...fuck.

(Is it too late to rewind to the musical montage?)


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: We're nearly there, I swear! Part 10/11. The end is in sight!

This chapter is also known as 'The Dance of the Seven Hundred Million Original Characters I Foolishly Placed in this Story'.

Disclaimer: You might think 'What kind of sick person would put fictional characters into such terrible situations?' A more horrifying and pertinent question is: 'What kind of sick person would put fictional characters *she doesn't own, and didn't create* into such terrible situations?'

* * *

It's simple. He sees Casey and he knows he's going to die. Not in a heart-pounding, romantic movie 'his breath catches when he meets her eyes' kind of way – he means he's going to die in a completely literal, medical kind of way, because the Casey marching into view is _green_, and he's pretty sure that's not normal (the doctor checked for blown pupils, but somehow she missed that _his brain's been dynamited to mush_).

He keeps his face impassive as Casey strides towards him, and hopes that it's possible to get stronger drugs (because paracetamol's just not going to cut it). Absently he wonders if his death is going to be painless (because adding a painful death to the craptacular turn his life has taken lately? Even Karma can't be _that_ much of a bitch).

"So...that's Casey?" Gemma asks, blinking as she approaches.

"Yeah," Baz says. "So, about that drink, I know this great little place – the decor's not much, but the decaf is stellar..."

(...would this great little place happen to be known as 'Baz's home'?)

Then Gemma takes a breath in, and says carefully, "Um...maybe we shouldn't go for that drink. I mean, your friend's had a rough night – we should really see him through it."

Baz immediately disagrees. "Hey – that's what Casey's here for! Don't worry, Casey is really responsible – she's like, the most responsible person I know!"

(While that's totally true...Baz hangs out with Zimmer and Jerry – Casey's got an unfair advantage).

"She's also _green_," Gemma points out.

Derek perks up slightly. (Because if Gemma sees that too...maybe he's not going to die).

Then Casey's standing in front of him, larger than life and twice as green, and narrowing her eyes at him (...or maybe he will die. Just...not from the concussion).

"Hey Casey!" Baz says cheerfully. "Love the new look!" He gestures at her...is that a pajama top she's wearing over her sweatpants?

"Glad you like it," she says. Her ginsu-knife-gaze doesn't lift from Derek. "It's called 'I've been freaking out since I got an unexpected phone call to say that my stepbrother was in hospital'."

"Green is totally your color," Baz says, nodding.

Casey looks confused for a moment, before putting her hand up to her jaw. She makes a face as her fingers encounter the green gunk. "I was exfoliating," she says, sounding accusatory.

"Hey, I'm not the one who called you," Derek protests, stung (because the _real _catastrophe in this disaster movie masquerading as his evening – is the fact that Baz gave Casey complimentary tickets and a front row seat). "For your information, I didn't even _want_ to call you. Because I'm fine," he says, and he makes sure to enunciate.

"Yeah – you're completely fine...which is why I'm collecting you at a _hospital_," she points out.

"You're not _collecting_ me." (What is he – dry-cleaning?).

"Dude – she's totally collecting you," Baz hisses, and pokes him in the back. "She's totally collecting him," he reassures Gemma.

Casey finally takes a break from her game of eye-darts (guess who's the target?), and glances at Gemma, who puts out her hand.

"Hi – I'm Gemma," she says.

"Casey." After a second's hesitation, she holds out her hand and they shake.

"Great!" Baz interrupts with a hearty hand clap that makes them all jump. "Well, now that we've all been introduced and the whole question of collecting Derek has been resolved" –

(It has?). He opens his mouth to dispute that point, but Baz steamrolls onwards cheerily –

"– howzabout moving this party to the car? Me and Gemma can drop you guys off."

"That's not" – he begins.

"Fine," Casey finishes, talking over him. "Let's go." She turns back to Derek and instructs, "Put your arm around me."

His response is immediate, because (...no), there's no (n.o.) way he can (just – _no_) lean on _Casey_ (hey, smack him hard enough with the rolled up newspaper, and even he gets the message. Eventually).

"Yeah – the concussion is in my _head_, not my legs," he says.

She puts her hands on her hips and actually _growls_ at him, "Put. Your arm. Around me. Or believe me, the _concussion_ won't even be a _factor _in your death."

He puts his arm around her shoulders.

(And in tonight's creature feature, Casey McDonald will be reprising the memorable role of 'girl_fiend_').

"I don't know if this is such a good idea," Gemma begins, glancing worriedly between them. "Casey seems...um...stressed..."

Casey takes a sharp breath in. She's practically vibrating and _already _green, and hello – has Gemma ever cracked a comic book? (_Don't make her angry. You wouldn't like her when she's angry_).

"No!" Baz butts in too quickly, then clears his throat and smiles. "Casey's always like this." He gestures vaguely at her pajama-and-gunk-clad form. He places a hand on Gemma's back and begins steering her doorwards. "The first time I met her, she was covered in flour and chocolate, and she threw an egg at my head."

Gemma stops. "In that case, I really think" –

"Don't!" Baz says quickly, pulling on her arm. In a not-quiet-enough voice, he says, "Look – she's just...having a family freak-out. A sisterly-spaz. It's practically a relative-_requirement_."

Derek tenses and under his arm Casey stiffens even more, because that suggestion is just completely wrong on _so_ _many_ levels (it's a _multi-storey _of misinformation).

This time, Gemma allows herself to be steered.

"So how did this even happen?" Casey asks, as they follow. Then, too quickly for him to respond, "No, wait – don't tell me...I can guess. Did you at least get her phone number?"

Baz twists around and says, "Oh man, did he ever! Picture it – she chases after us as we're helping D's concussed butt into the car, all 'Hey, you should totally call me!' And you should have seen this girl – not that I was _looking _or anything," he hastily clarifies (glancing towards Gemma), before shaking his head and continuing, "But D just drops her number – just drops it right there on the ground, like...whatever, lady, I can do better."

He can feel Casey looking at him for a long moment, but he just stares straight ahead. Finally she says, "Wow. I'm surprised the doctors didn't want to keep you overnight – I mean, with such clear evidence of brain trauma."

"It's not brain trauma," he says, still not looking at her, and weirdly aware of her shoulder under his arm. "It's my new philosophy. Girls...just aren't worth the headaches."

* * *

Since Casey has forgotten her keys, the door is (eventually) opened by two girls with identical looks of 'startled out of sleep' on their faces.

They take in the spectacle of a green, sports-and-sleepwear clad Casey, and with timing that borders on eerie, they release twin resigned sighs. (Yeah, living with Casey will do that).

"I know this looks a little strange," Casey says, with forced cheer. "But, really, there's a very good explanation. It's completely logical, too!" she promises.

(Yeah. The owner of the Universe(al) Studio _hates him_).

The one with the black sleep mask pushed up on her forehead silently steps aside to allow them to enter.

The marginally more awake one stares at him as Casey hauls him in by his elbow and asks, "Did you just...get a sudden craving, Casey?" Her mouth twitches.

Casey drops his elbow as if...well, as if she's just realized she's holding his elbow. "He's my stepbrother and he's concussed!"

Marginally More Awake blinks. "That's a really _specific_ craving," she says mildly. (Yeah, tell Derek about it. Casey's the pickle on his ice-cream).

Her protest is immediate and even though the objection itself isn't exactly coherent ("_That's – not...why would you even – that's so completely not..._") the pitch at which it's rendered causes them all to cringe.

Okay, okay, she's the star and he's just the stand in – he _gets it_. (And now, dogs across Toronto _get it_).

"Jeez, okay, okay – it was just a stupid joke," Marginally More Awake mutters, as she wanders off, presumably to her bedroom.

Black Sleeping Mask starts after her, only to turn back and say to Casey, "I'm almost too tired to care, but just remember, if you guys do the weird," she squints between them and amends, "the incredibly, _incredibly_ weird, in your room – Jenna will _kill _you. And if you get green on the couch, I think you'll be obligated to kill yourself."

She pads off, waving a dismissive hand as Casey splutters.

And then it's just them.

Derek and Casey.

(And, making its feature film debut in a major non-speaking role – please give a lukewarm welcome to...Awkward Silence!).

He can't read Casey's face as she stares at him (but he's borderline illiterate anyway, so it's not like that's a big deal or anything).

Finally, however, she snaps (no surprise there – it's Casey – she's the human equivalent of a stretched elastic), and announces, "_I_ am going to clean my face. Stay there and whatever you do, don't lapse into a coma!" She points a warning finger at him.

He doesn't fake-salute (until after she turns away).

She takes three steps before she whirls around and marches back. "On second thought..." she says, and she grabs his wrist.

"Hey!" he protests, as she _hauls._

"I don't trust you" she says (and yeah, duh, but what exactly does that have to do with anything?). "You'd probably do it just to spite me."

"Yeah – you've got to watch out for those vengeance comas." He rolls his eyes (what the hell does she think this is – a soap opera?).

* * *

He ends up sitting on the edge of the bathtub, trying not to watch Casey de-green her face. Every so often, their eyes meet in the mirror, and Awkward Silence just blasts out of the speakers (it thumps through his body, a beat, a vibration without sound).

He closes his eyes for a minute and listens to the sound of running water and the opening and closing of the medicine cabinet. With his eyes shut he can almost pretend this is peaceful.

Of course, that illusion is abruptly shattered when Casey taps him on the shoulder (causing his eyes to open) and blinds him (not with science – with the sudden beam of light from a tiny, pink torch).

"...seem to be even," the shiny purple blur formerly known as Casey says. "Huh. That's weird."

"What?" he says.

"It indicates that your brain stem is functioning normally. And here was me, thinking that it didn't function at all..." She clears her throat and fidgets with the torch (the insult's shiny silver, right on the money, but the cheap nickel-plated delivery doesn't match up).

Things being – he'd like to say 'normal', here's where he'd make a crack about her complete lack of a bathside manner. (He bets she has cold hands too).

But at the moment, they seem to be making an extensive tour of Weirdsville (taking photographs, buying t-shirts, visiting all the major monuments), so he doesn't say anything.

(...and Awkward Silence wows the crowd with another encore).

It's going to be a l-o-o-ong night. He can tell.

* * *

It turns out that Casey's put him on Coma-watch. This means no sleep.

He tries reasoning with her – but when has Casey ever been reasonable?

"– only a problem if you have trouble waking me up. The doctor even _said_ it was okay to sleep," he protests, appealing to her respect for authority (but it turns out her disrespect for him trumps that – no contest).

He's tired. He's tired, and sore, and consciousness is completely over-rated anyway (especially when it comes to dealing with Casey), so really, he's not seeing the appeal in her little non-slumber non-party.

"The doctor hasn't lived with you," she argues. "You don't _nap,_ you _hibernate, _and it's _always_ hard to wake you up. How am I supposed to tell the difference between a normal Derek sleep-in and a potentially fatal coma?"

So the end result is him and Casey sitting on opposite sides of the couch. She has the television on, but in deference to Black Sleeping Mask and (no longer) Marginally More Awake, it's so low he can't hear it. Not that he complains, since the high-octane thrill fest Casey settles on is...a bunch of women making a blanket for a conflicted looking chick.

And yeah, the temperature of the room remains resolutely at 'uncomfortable' degrees Celsius, given that the last time he saw Casey, she was using his heart as a prop in her rehearsal for Stomp!, while the time before that, he freaked her out with that late night screening of _The Thing (In Derek Venturi's Pants)._

But that doesn't seem to stop him from drifting off. Hey – it's not like he's _sensitive_ or anything (and anyway, being awake and in the same vicinity as Casey means a night of reliving _Derek's Greatest Misses_)...so it's natural that every once in a while his eyelids start to droop and his head falls back against the couch. Of course, whenever this happens, Casey pokes him, or shines her stupid torch, or blurts out dumb words for him to remember.

(And, right on cue...)

"Lizard, candle, baby-monitor!" she says abruptly, pulling him back from the brink of sleep.

He rubs his eyes and yawns. "No thanks, I'm good. Maybe later."

She frowns at him. "Derek – you can't go to sleep! What if you" –

"I'm _fine_," he says. "Lizard, candle, baby-monitor," he repeats (rolling his eyes), to prove it.

Casey doesn't look convinced.

"It's just...I...haven't been sleeping so well...lately," his mouth chooses to inform her. He stares hard at the screen, but when she doesn't respond, he can't help but look at her.

Their eyes meet, just for a second, before she looks away. "Why am I not surprised?" she mumbles.

Did he mention that he is _way _too tired for this? He feels his head start to drop back against the couch again when –

"Out of interest...just how many girls _have_ you slept with?"

He jerks awake. "What?!" he says, because there's no way Casey just asked him –

"How many girls have you slept with this semester?" she looks at him, head tilted, half-defiant looking.

"What?" he says (because...what else is there to say?). "Why are you...?"

"Just some mental math to keep you alert" –

(Yeah, he's on red-alert all right – the alarms are sounding loud and clear).

"...not asking for a _precise_ total, obviously – "

(Obviously. Because _that_ would be _unreasonable_).

"– more of a ballpark figure. A rough estimate."

She's looking down at the remote, picking at the sticky tape across the back that's keeping the batteries in.

"Okay, I get it. I'm awake," he says. (He needs a sign or something – '_Please refrain from feeding the elephant in the room'_).

"That many, huh?" she says, thumbnail still working a corner of the sticky tape. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, _Derek Does Toronto _is practically the working title for this semester_._"

"Kind of an inappropriate question, don'tcha think?" he says, with a 'back right off' smile, because _she's breaking the rules. _She's breaking the rules and _it is not okay with him. _

She doesn't get to be jealous – not when she's the one that dated his room-mate (classy move there, Case!), broke things off (three times, by his counting – how's _that_ for mental math?), and filled his stomach with rusty knives ('_I didn't like it'_). So she doesn't get to ask him how many girls he's slept with, or make snippy comments about his prowess.

"_I'm_ the inappropriate one?" she shakes her head in disbelief, "When we were" – she trails off.

"What?" he says, daring her. "When we were _what_?" Because, hey, she talks a good game, but it's not like she'll ever admit...

"...nothing," she says dully (living down to his complete lack of expectations). "...completely and utterly nothing. Forget it."

"– and there weren't that many girls," he says suddenly, surprising himself. Weirdly, it's not exactly flattering to be considered a porn-star (he really doesn't dig the moustache-and-medallion look).

"You know what, I don't – forget it," Casey says, very quickly. (...and the emotional weathervane takes a sharp swing south again). She gets to her feet, and continues, "Just – it was a bad idea, okay, and..." Her face changes. "Wait there."

Without warning, she pads off in the direction of her room – but she's back in seconds and brandishing...

A pack of cards.

(It's...just..._completely_ perfect).

"This should keep you awake. Go Fish, or Crazy Eights?" she asks, kneeling on the floor and already shuffling the cards in her hands.

He thinks this is irony (since the deck's clearly been stacked against him from the beginning). It's hilarious, honestly (who would have guessed Casey was a card-shark?).

There's this weird sound-effect (kind of like 'laughter, but as experienced by the butt of the joke'), and it takes him a moment to realize that it's coming from him.

She looks up at him, confused, and stops shuffling.

"Casey," he says, and he reaches down and takes the cards from her (he tries to do it without touching her). "Just watch the stupid movie, okay?"

(For once, she doesn't call his bluff).

Two hours later, and she's asleep, legs pulled up to her chest. Her head's on the armrest of the couch, and one hand is dangling off the cushion, fingers loosely curled.

Meanwhile he is completely awake and (not-looking) staring hard at the television, thinking about nothing at all (and definitely not anything in particular). Really. (Either this is a different movie, or the conflicted chick gained sixty pounds and became a bearded drag racer).

He's still completely awake an hour later, when Roommate the Third stumbles in the front door, struggles with the locks, and, as she lurches past the couch, throws her coat over his head.

(It's been a fright to remember, all right).

* * *

The next morning starts with frosted mini-wheats and an argument with Derek's own personal Froot Loop.

"– can't leave you alone! It hasn't been twenty-four hours and" –

"And I'm fine. So you should just...go to your classes and get your Honor Roll on. Because I'm fine," he repeats.

And he is (or he will be, when he isn't being forced down Memory Lane at gunpoint).

"You are not fine! And" –

"Do you _want_ to skip your classes?" he interrupts, cutting straight to the point.

"Of course not!" she denies immediately.

"Hmm – so let's see," he says. "_You_ don't want to skip your classes, and _I _don't want you to skip your classes...what _could _the solution be?" He scratches his head and looks puzzled.

"It's not that simple – which you'd know, if you weren't _concussed,_" she says.

(It all comes down to this – he can't do it).

Honestly, he just...can't spend an entire day with Casey. It's stupid, and not even very interesting (he's never been a foam-finger waving fan of the truth) – but there it is. Maybe Casey can backslide from whatever they were(n't), and rebound right into a game of Scrappy Families, but he just...can't.

She's standing there, and _not-wanting_ him – and it's not like he wants her either (or at least, he wants to not want her, which is _almost_ the same thing, right?), but he just...can't do it.

"_Casey_," he says, and she really looks at him then – stops formulating arguments in her head and actually listens. "Go to your classes, and let me _heal_."

It's not the worst thing he's ever said to her (it's not even under _consideration_ for 'Best Insult in a Drama or Comedy'), but she just stands there with this startled (hurt) look on her face.

"Maybe I'm just tired of playing invisible and trying to swallow my frosted wheats whole, but how about this?" Black Sleeping Mask (no longer wearing her sleeping mask) says. "Why don't you go to your classes, Casey," she holds up her hand to forestall Casey, "while Derek stays here and" –

"Yeah, I was thinking" – he interrupts.

"I'm not finished!" Black Sleeping Mask half-screeches (cementing Derek's belief that she's not a morning person). "As I was _saying_," she continues, "Jenna's obviously not going anywhere this morning – so Derek won't be alone. And Cathy" – she gestures to Marginally More of a Morning Person, "can swing by in the middle of the day. Just to make sure that everything's okay. Okay? Good!" she finishes, without waiting for an answer.

"I don't think Jenna's responsible enough to be in charge of a whole other person," Casey objects. "And 'responsible' isn't a word that comes to mind when describing Derek – even when he _hasn't_ been using his head to cushion his fall."

Black Sleeping Mask aims a glare in Casey's direction (and Derek might be wrong, but he's getting the impression that there's a certain amount of tension here that, surprisingly, doesn't originate from him). "One – he keeps telling us he's fine," she says through gritted teeth. "Two, he's made it pretty clear that he doesn't want you to stay, right?"

She stares questioningly at Derek, who says, "That was the basic message, yeah."

"And three...even Jenna would do something if she heard the thump of a body dropping onto the floor." She pauses. "I'm not saying she'd do the _right _thing – but she would do _something_."

* * *

He makes the best of being under house arrest, and naps on the couch. He's almost forgotten about Room-mate Number Three when she finally makes her appearance, and lurches into the living room wrapped in her comforter.

She squints at him, and when he opens his mouth to speak, she holds up her hand to stop him and slowly makes her way into the kitchen. She reappears and sits on the couch with a half-full litre bottle of water, which she downs in big swallows without stopping once. When she's finished, she puts the empty bottle on the floor, looks at him again, and says, "Shoot."

He gets through the basics (name: Derek, occupation: stepbrother, pet peeve: Casey, reason for being here: concussion), before there's a muffled ringing. Jenna looks confused for a moment before scrabbling underneath the comforter and pulling a cell phone out of her pajama pocket.

"Oh God," she says, grimacing at the screen, before flipping the phone open, and saying, "Casey. Hi. What do you want?"

Her eyes flick over to Derek. "No. No. Yes, I'm sure. What?" She rolls her eyes, and holds out the phone. "Say something to prove that you're not in a coma," she instructs him.

* * *

The third time Casey rings, Jenna just says, "He's still not dead," and hangs up. She chews on her fingernail for a minute and then turns to Derek and says, "How did you do it?"

"How did I do what now?"

"Live with her," she says darkly.

He considers this. Life with Casey had (of course) been a pain in the ass. But then, so far, life _without_ Casey is turning out to be a pain in the head _and_ stomach. So far, it's a no-score draw (and if he tells himself that often enough, he's bound to start believing it).

"– lately just...impossible. It's like she's addicted to the smell of bleach or something."

Jenna's cell phone starts ringing again. She stares at it for a moment before getting up and walking into the kitchen. When she returns, she's holding an open bag of chips. She takes out a handful, and drops them. Then she puts down her slippered foot and grinds them into the carpet.

...and Derek starts to think that maybe he was a little bit hasty about this whole 'go away Casey' thing. (Better the she-devil he knows, right?)

She tosses the bag over to him when she's done and says, with psychotic cheerfulness, "Yeah, I'm going to get dressed and leave, okay? You're not going to die or anything, right?"

"I wasn't planning on it," he assures her.

* * *

And that's it (well, with the exception of a lunchtime visit from Marginally More Annoyed with Casey Than Before, who sticks her head in the door at lunchtime and says –

"Yes, I'm looking right at him. No – surprisingly _not_ in a coma."

– before slamming the door shut again).

So by the time Casey comes back (earlier than he expects), he's rested and ready.

It's a Casey-argument (so 'logic' is an uninvited guest), and, like many Casey-arguments, it ends up by looping right around to the start again. Namely –

"But it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet!"

(Yeah – he's not seeing why that's relevant since he's not _Kiefer Sutherland_).

"Yeah, but if I have to spend any more time here, I _will _lapse into a coma. Come on, Casey, what's the big deal? You've done your" – (here's where he would normally put in the word 'stepsisterly'), "– duty...now you can let me go."

"I just think" –

"Well don't!" he says, exasperated beyond measure. "Just stop thinking! Problem solved!"

"Easy for you to say," she says quietly. It throws him, because she doesn't sound angry (not...exactly). She tilts her head, and after a finger-twitchingly-tense examination, she says, suddenly, "Fine."

"Oh come _on_!" he explodes, before realizing... "Wait – you're letting me go? For real?"

She shrugs.

He waits for the catch (it's Casey – there's always a catch. As well as assorted other bolts, buckles, locks and latches).

"Aren't you going to go?" she asks, frowning down at the carpet-chip-crumbs. "Cause five seconds ago it sounded like you were in kind of a rush."

(Fun fact – the possibility of release does stupid things to his brain).

"Yeah, in a minute," he says absently. "Just...wait. I should" –

She looks up, eyes intently focused on him.

(The thing is...there's a script for this. And as much as he likes to ad-lib...sometimes, (un)common decency demands that he go with the original screenplay).

So he sucks it up and says, "So...thanks. For – not that it was necessary, or anything," he clarifies quickly.

She blinks. "Okay," she says, looking down again. "I guess that's...that's..." she looks up again, and as if she can't stop herself, she says, "That's it?"

His turn to blink. "Well, I was going to bake you a cake, but" –

Shit. ('_Tell me you're not coming on to me at my boyfriend's birthday party'_)

"That's it?" she says again.

And yeah – _that's it, _because –

"Were you expecting something else?" he asks (_thwack!_ The ball sails into her court).

"...forget it," she says again. (Wow – what a _spectacular _miss).

He could let it go. Except (the roaring in his ears sounds like, '_Game on!'_) he pretty much knew how things were going to go down the second Baz told him that Casey was on the way. The fact that she keeps poking him, then backing away from the ring at the last second doesn't change that. A smackdown's inevitable.

(But he's going down swinging).

So instead of 'letting it go', he says, "Hey – maybe I could...if you'd _let_ me." (Ooh – hard serve).

"I didn't say anything!" she defends (...is she trying to hit the ball with a golf club? Because this is a _special kind _of swing and miss).

"Oh, sorry – I guess I'm the one who keeps bringing it up." He considers this for a moment. "No, wait – that's all _you_." (He's been working on his backhand).

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not like you!" she says, raising her voice (nice try, but _he's _the offensive player...in every sense of the word).

"– I can't just...push it all away and pretend like it never happened" –

(Could've fooled him)

"– because it _did, _and you know what? You just..." she lets out a frustrated breath, "...it wasn't...I didn't" –

"Like it?" he interrupts (because he just can't take hearing her say it a second time). "Well, good news, I'm not inflicting _It_ on you anymore, so...that's no longer a problem."

She stares at him, and her mouth twists. "Oh yeah," she says. "That just – solves everything, doesn't it?"

"Well, hey, I'd take it back if I could," he says (she's pushing and pushing – and, oh look at that – _there's the edge_), "but my time machine is in the shop, so I'm not really seeing what else I can do. I guess you'll just have to – I don't know – _get over it_!"

"Get over it?" she repeats.

"Yeah. Hire a mariachi band and face the music! Invest in a new CD and throw away the broken record! Quit digging your heels in and dodge that bullet – I don't really care _how_ you do it, but Get. Over. It."

She opens her mouth, and he quickly clarifies, "'Get over it' in a way that _doesn't_ involve using words." (Because his chest gets tighter at the thought of a verbal repeat of last time).

She looks at him for a long moment.

"...Okay," she says. And she kisses him.

It's only for a second – he stumbles back almost immediately, because...

(No).

(No).

(NoNoNoNo_No_).

"What are you doing?" he demands, over the thumping of his heart.

"Taking your advice," she says, jaw strangely set. "Getting over it."

(Yeah, but how is _he_ supposed to get over _her_, when she keeps sliding under him?)

She takes a step forward and he retreats again, because –

"No."

She stops. (But he can't).

"No," he says again (because it bears repeating). He can hardly speak, the words are too big in his mouth. "I just...this..._really_ didn't work out so well last time, and I – don't think it's a good idea."

(And if _Derek Venturi, _alias Johnny Irresponsible, doesn't think it's a good idea...)

"– Okay," she says, blinking very fast and somehow managing to look at him without ever meeting his eyes. "That's, you know, that's...fine. If you're scared, or – whatever."

It's a split second decision. And, funny, it's not the dare that gets him (she can't even say it like she means it). It's her face-saving, trying-too-hard-to-be-tough attitude that ruins everything. (She presses her lips together hard, like she's anticipating the refusal, and GOD, she couldn't be any more transparent if she were a shower curtain).

"...okay," he says.

She swallows, and for one panicky second, he thinks this is a double bluff (and she's aiming for shoot-down number four), but then she says, in a slightly higher than normal voice. "Good. Okay. Good."

She takes a hesitant step forwards and clears her throat, "Just" –

But instead of finishing, she kisses him, roughly, hard, hands fisting in his shirt.

And he gets it (this isn't just _sex..._).

She pulls back. "Okay?" she says.

"Okay," he repeats.

(...it's _payback_).

* * *

He follows her into her bedroom. His eyes dart around (because hey, setting is important), but he can't focus on the big picture, and all he gets are these random details –

Jenna's comforter is in a heap on one of the twin beds, and there's a sheet of paper with '_Do NOT make my bed Casey – I MEAN IT_!' on top of it. On the wall, there's a poster of a woman walking in the rain, umbrella obscuring her face. There's a repulsively flowery cushion on the chair in the corner. There's a really big book on the small table by the window. That last one turns his stomach. Not just because it's a big book, but because it's Casey's _Book of Psy-crapology._ The one that's still in a drawer in his bedroom (has been since...). Hey, it's not a bad thing that Casey would pay out rather than deal with him – it's not an insult, it's a potential cash cow. (It's awesome, really – makes his stomach bubble with..._good_ feelings).

Casey clears her throat, and he faces her. She's standing in the middle of the floor, looking nervous.

"So..." he says, through the sand in his mouth. "Where do you want to..." (..._do this_).

"Um..." her eyes shoot to her bed, but it's the chair in the corner that she gestures towards in the end.

"Okay," he says (his voice doesn't crack. It doesn't even _splinter_). "Well...should I..." he swallows and motions towards his clothes.

She stands frozen for a moment, before saying, jerkily, "Yes, you could...um. Please," she adds at the end (like he's a waiter and she's asking for service or something).

(It's entirely possible that this is the least sexy thing ever).

He toes off his shoes, and then unbuttons his shirt. He unzips his jeans and steps out of them. He waits then, but Casey doesn't say anything, so he stops.

She clears her throat. "Do you want to...?" she nods at the chair, and he walks over and sits in it.

(The only conceivable way this could be _less_ of a turn on, is if she gave him a root canal first).

It's a big, curving wicker arm chair. The back slopes down into the armrests. It doesn't come close to _his_ chair, but it's probably nowhere near as uncomfortable as his body keeps insisting it is. He spaces out for a second because it's all so...surreal and vaguely disturbing (like...olde tyme chick flick meets Tarantino gorefest) – and he only comes back to himself when he hears the sound of a drawer shutting.

He looks up, and Casey's got this bright blue piece of material in her hands. It's longish – a hair-scarf or neck-scarf or something.

And he suddenly understands why the chair, at least. Because Casey's headboard is plain wood (no handy-dandy metal bars). But there are two holes in the wicker chair, on either side of his back (just _perfect _for all those kinky payback-sex needs!).

* * *

It's not like she doesn't give him a chance to object.

She walks over slowly, and she looks him straight in the eye and she doesn't even have to say anything (..._speak now or forever hold_...). He looks right back at her, and before she even asks, he slides his hands out through the holes in the chair.

He can't push his hands out very far – the shape of the chair and the angle of his arms won't allow it (it's almost as if the chair manufacturers hadn't even _considered _that their product might one day be used for twisted sex games!), and he doesn't really know how (or even _if_) it's going to work.

But Casey doesn't try to push his wrists together. Instead, she ties one end of the scarf (cool and silky when it brushes against him) to his left wrist, and knots the other end of the material to his right wrist, so the length of the scarf is pulled across the back of the chair. It's not comfortable, precisely (since, y'know, he can't move his arms), but it's not painful or anything.

Then she stands in front of him. Just stands there for a really long moment, and he can tell from the look on her face that she's having second thoughts. And weirdly, that's fine with him, because he didn't do this for the sake of sex (alert the authorities – his guy-cense has expired!). He did it because of the look on Casey's face when he turned her down. So, watching her frozen-freak-out, he waits for her to call the whole thing off.

Instead, she pulls her shirt over her head.

(And for one horrible minute he doesn't know if he can do this. Not in a melodramatic 'his principles forbid it' Casey kind of way. In an entirely literal, '_what-if-his-body-won't-cooperate'_ kind of way).

She pulls off her shoes, and shimmies out of her jeans, and yeah, his hands might be tied, but his eyes are free agents, and to his complete relief, he finds that his body's pretty well-trained after all (throw a quarter to the organ grinder, and the monkey will dance all night).

And then, she gets up on the chair (which gives a wickery creak), and straddles his lap, a knee on either side. Her eyes are fixed on his, and she licks her lips nervously. She makes a move like she's going to unfasten her bra, but almost as soon as her hands reach behind her, they jerk forward again, awkward, unsure. It's the complete opposite of an expert seduction –

(...and it just...cramps him up inside with tenderness).

She stops. He tries to keep his face impassive, ready to follow her lead (or retreat, as the case may be). Her eyes are still intent upon his (it's a full-on security strip-search – he can practically hear the snap of the gloves), and he doesn't know what she sees, but she gets this determined crease between her eyebrows.

She puts her hands on his shoulders, and starts to move.

* * *

He's not going to lie. Casey's on top of him, and rocking her hips (and there's always been _friction_ between them – but for once it's a source of gratitude, not annoyance), and it feels amazing.

Her cheek touches his and his hands clench behind him as Casey leans forward and sucks on his earlobe (and this is the part where his doubts melt like ice-cream, drip away into a puddle of 'doesn't-matter' because the only thing that counts here her body grinding against his, the heat of her mouth and the scrape of her teeth...).

(Except...)

Between one beat and another, something changes.

Her hands are still on his shoulders (maybe the only things keeping him from floating away, sky-high on sex-helium), and the brush of her chest against his is a tease, slightly scratchy – perfect. Her weight in his lap makes him bite his lip and catch his breath.

But she's stopped looking at him.

He stares up at her, waiting to catch her eyes. But she keeps looking resolutely forward, eyes fixed at a point above and behind him. Her mouth is moving, silently shaping words he can't hear, and he can't help straining upwards, arms pulling, hands twisting uselessly against the stupid scarf.

(It gets worse).

Her hips move faster, sending aches of pleasure through his body, and making him wrench even harder against the scarf (it's not a conscious decision, it's a basic body need, like breathing) since he _needs_ to be free and able to touch. But when he yanks against the fabric, the knots only pinch more (it just figures Casey was a brownie, in addition to being a brown-noser).

She's breathing faster, and her eyes are closed. Her eyes are closed and he wants her (more than anything – more than he even wants the stupid scarf to be untied), he wants her to _look at him_.

Because he feels invisible, like he's not Derek Venturi at all. And he can't...

(He's a ghost, a prop, a fantasy...).

He can't...

(...a picture in a magazine, a stripper pole, a cute sweater...).

And see, the best thing to do would be to just...detach and take it – wait for it to be over, ride it out (name hockey players in his head, or distract himself with the creaking of the chair or something). But that's the thing..._he can't._ All he can do is sit there, while she uses him like her own personal sex toy (and the cherry on the humiliation sundae is the fact that she's making him _get off_ on it).

So he can't help himself, he turns his head and blindly reaches for whatever skin he can get. He kisses her ear, her jaw, her neck, her hair.

(And okay, okay Casey, he _totally gets it_ – can it be over now?).

A few gasping, breathless moments later, it is. She rests her head against his shoulder for a minute, while she comes down. He waits for his heart-rate to return to normal.

And then he says, "You can untie me now."

* * *

Casey gets up after she unties him (and he wouldn't have thought it possible, but it's like they've put Awkward Silence under a magnifying glass), and goes into the bathroom, leaving him to get dressed. Which he does.

And then he leaves. He almost walks into one of the room-mates (does it really matter which?) as he exits.

And he walks.

Fast.

And then faster.

Because yeah, it feels like Casey turned him inside out and he's wearing his bones (and his...feelings) on the outside – which makes it hard to think (or do anything but curl into a protective ball) but as his feet slap the pavement, hard, and then harder, he knows one thing for sure.

(He's not leaving the movie theater without some resolution to this whole stupid story arc).

So he reaches his place, unlocks the door, goes to his room, pulls the third drawer of his desk open, and hauls out Casey's _Messing With Minds: the Essential Guide._

And he walks all the way back to her place, the sound of his pounding feet drowned out by the driving beat inside his head.

He knocks hard on the door, and when it swings open, there she is.

He thrusts the book at her, and automatically, she takes hold of it. But he doesn't let go.

"You mattered," he says.


	11. Chapter 11

NOTES: ZE END! Gosh. When I started this, I thought..."Five chapters of roughly two thousand words...hmmm, no, better make that FOUR chapters." :)

Thanks so much to everyone who stuck with this, who sent feedback and who bore with me through copious puns, buckets of angst, and the fact that really, this was a very long fic about a very small misunderstanding.

I hopehopehope this last chapter works for you :)

DISCLAIMER: One more time, for the road. LWD - so not mine. Unbelievable as this might be, this story was written for fun (!), not profit.

* * *

To his relief, she doesn't play dumb. Instead, she lets go of the book, crosses her arms and asks, "More or less than all those other girls you were sleeping with?"

"One," he says, so fast it overlaps the end of her sentence. He wants to deal with this non-issue fast, push it out of the way (maybe into the path of a speeding car), and get right down to the bones of this fight.

She blinks. "What?"

"One," he forces himself to repeat. "One girl."

She frowns at him, but he meets her eyes steadily. "Well," she says finally, swallowing, "Not that I was keeping score, or anything...but that seems like a really conservative estimate. Based on my calculations."

Yeah, well, math's never been Casey's strong point – and this is advanced problem-solving. (Decode the equation _Derek plus Casey_, where both variables add up to a value of '_why?'_)

"It must really suck to be so far off base," he says, staring her down, his words tripping over each other in the rush to get out. Maybe he should feel embarrassed (and maybe he even will, later), but right now, all he's got room for is 'angry'. (There's an unexploded grenade in his chest...and whoops, Casey just reached in and pulled the pin). "Hey – maybe if you weren't so busy dating my room-mate, your _calculations _might have worked out."

"Yeah, because you seemed so cut up about that...in between all those phone calls and one night stands." She doesn't raise her voice, but she sounds every bit as furious as he feels.

"_One_," he says again (and this is the last time). "_One _one night stand."

(Meet Derek Venturi. _No_-thario).

"And, hey – since you were, you know, _dating my room-mate_, I don't even see how that counts."

She looks at him, eyebrows pulled together, searching (it's all he can do to stand still and not flinch in the flashlight beams). Even though she starts to shake her head, she must believe what he's saying, because when she opens her mouth, she attacks on a different front.

"Don't pretend you cared about that," she says, fiercely.

(Is that rumbling in the distance?).

"Oh no, of course I didn't _care_," he snaps back (because come on, isn't Casey supposed to be _smart_?). "I _always_ pass on my girlfr – girls to my friends. It's _recycling, _Derek Venturi style."

"Oh, I'm sorry – was I supposed to ask for _permission_ before I moved on from the Great Derek Venturi?"

"You didn't _move_ very far," he says, swinging wildly (he's not entirely comfortable with this new weapon, Truth). "It was more 'moving over' than 'moving on'."

(The noise is getting louder).

"What's that supposed to mean?" Casey's fingers are gripping her upper arms.

"You weren't exactly Sensitive McHelpsaLot," he points out, heat flushing through him at the memory of '_Casey-tries-couplehood – no Dereks need_ _apply_'. "You were always..." (waving her relationship in front of his face), "..._there_," he finishes.

"Oh, was I _cramping_ your style?"

(No, mostly his stomach).

" – or – don't tell me I bruised your _ego_?"

(Is his ego located in his chest cavity? If so, it explains a lot).

"No – wait. I get it. You're mad because I was supposed to keep pining for you until you got bored"–

"Pining?" he interrupts, "Yeah, because ditching me at super-speed to get all happy-go-coupley with Jerry was a sign of how much you _cared._"

"Shut up, Derek," she says, tight lipped.

"Of course, you did show up with a 'let's make up' break-up box – that was a nice touch. That made me feel special. Except..." he clicks his fingers, "...wait a minute – that was for _Jerry_."

(Is it him, or is the ground starting to shake?).

"But I guess the part where you wanted to get back together and said we could 'go the distance' showed your true feelings." He holds up a hand, like something's just occurring to him. "...but. Huh. Turns out that wasn't me either."

Casey's looking at him, fingers white where they're digging into her arms. Her lips are pressed together, and she's breathing in and out fast. (Portrait of a girl-cano, ready to blow).

He scratches the back of his head, miming puzzlement (and keeps stirring the molten emotions). "You know, I think you might be confused. What's that word...sounds like pining, but _isn't_ pining? Oh, yeah, I have it! Not-pining!"

She takes a step forward.

(Evacuate the village – there's going to be an explosion!).

"Oh yeah. Because showing up at your place every evening isn't pining! Jumping at the chance to tutor your friend just so that I have an excuse to come by isn't pining! Letting you" –her voice hitches slightly, "_letting _you, every time your Girl of the Day didn't work out – no, that's perfectly healthy self-respecting female behaviour and not pining at all!"

He resists the urge to flinch as he gets splattered with Casey's feelings (...an out of control gush of emotional lava...).

"Are you _offended_ because I didn't shuffle after you on my knees, or something? I guess, come to think of it, I _was_ a little too subtle."

(...sprays of heat that hiss painfully against his skin).

But see – even though he doesn't know much about history...he knows enough to realize when it's being _entirely rewritten_.

(Plus, scorched into bone-dust is not the most inspiring way to go).

So he takes a breath (the air is full of ash and it catches at the back of his throat) and says, "Yeah – that's why you pulled the stop-drop-and-dump as soon as you got the chance. Because, y'know, why keep seeing the guy you're _'pining for',_" he's still holding the book with one hand, which limits his movements – but he'd like to think his voice gets the derisive finger quotes across anyway, "when you can have a meaningful sexless relationship with someone else?"

"Yeah, I could see how much that bothered you in all those heart to heart conversations we _never had_!"

"Oh, was I supposed to just sit there and have the 'Let's pretend to be friends, Derek' talk? Give you some stupid long speech about why you shouldn't pick him, after you already said yes? Sorry, but I try not to grovel – it wears out the knees of my pants."

He just has time to notice the weird silence before the world suddenly turns upside down.

"You were supposed to say you didn't want me to go out with him," she says, very quietly.

And everything goes completely still. (It's snow-quiet...even the sound of his breathing is swallowed up, muted).

She looks down. "You were supposed to say you liked me."

He shakes his head. (No. That's – not...)

Her eyes flick to his, and she amends, "In a Derek-ish way. You were supposed to..." she trails off, swallowing.

(He's freezing. He can't feel his fingers). That's not...how it happened... (...right?).

She raises her chin and focuses over his shoulder. "You _weren't_ supposed to make some stupid crack about freeing up your schedule. And then hold non-stop auditions for _Derek's Sexcapades – the Floozy-cal Extravaganza!_"

He's still shaking his head, not in disbelief (the raw scrape of Casey's voice slices right through disbelief) – in _denial_ (because it wasn't _like_ that – and shouldn't he _know, _since _he went through it?_).

They stare at each other across the ice-drenched silence (it's so cold, he's half-amazed they're not breathing out white).

"That was you," he manages eventually (usually he's blasé about being the moustache-twirling Bad Guy in Casey's version of events...but not here. Not this time). "I didn't..." He tries again, "That was about _you_."

"Yeah, I can see how dating indiscriminately was meant to show me how _special _I was."

It bursts out of him. "You just stopped!" They both start at the suddenness of it. "Like I was..." He has to take a breath (he's fighting his way out of a snowdrift). "– like _it_ was – nothing. And I thought, it wasn't...you didn't..."

He looks at her, lungs burning, willing her to understand (because his fingers are numb and clumsy and keep dropping the words). He takes another breath and stumbles onward. "And I thought, if I could just – _show_ you – it would be...we would be...okay..."

"It didn't feel like that," she says, slowly (the words shiver out). The deathgrip on her arms has eased. Now it looks like she's hugging herself, holding herself together. "It felt like – you could just...snap your fingers and make me do – _anything..._and you – you didn't even _care_, like" –

"Oh, yeah, because I make a point of sleeping with people I _don't_ care about," he snaps bitterly, because Casey's interpretation of events is so far off (she's continents away).

She glares at him. "'That wasn't a big deal, or anything,'" she snaps back, and he blinks for a second before he realizes...she's not making a statement – she's _quoting _him. "That's what _you_ said, the first time we..." she shakes her head, sharp and fast. "Kind of hard to misunderstand. I wasn't expecting love sonnets" – (her eyes shift guiltily, and the word 'LIE' lights up in neon behind her), "but since when do you say something like that if you don't mean it?" Her voice raises towards the end of the sentence.

"Since when do you _let me_ say stuff like that?" he exclaims, game-set-and-matching her frustration. "Since when do you just let me off the hook?!"

"How was I supposed to know that for _once _in your life, you wanted to be _on_ the hook?!"

"Well I did!" he yells.

The sudden lightning flash of silence is terrifying. Casey looks dazed. She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

Then there's a flurry of movement behind her and without warning Black Sleeping Mask and Marginally More...Whatever are elbowing past.

"Sorry, don't mind us," Black Sleeping Mask says. "We _were_ going to wait until you guys had completely finished breaking up – but if we wait any longer, we're going to miss the show." She stops for a second, considering. "...the _other _show, I mean."

Neither he nor Casey reply. They don't even acknowledge their appearance (sucks to be a supporting character). Instead, they hold each other's gaze until Black Sleeping Mask and Marginally More...Whatever have disappeared.

He licks dry lips. "Well I did," he repeats, more quietly this time. And again, "You mattered." (And she can take that, or leave it...because that's all he has left).

She looks at him, and everything slows down as she reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears (and for some strange reason, he's holding his breath).

"I wish..." she says, unsteadily, "...I wish I knew that...before."

It's all in how she says it, small and sad.

He can't speak – even though he never for even a second expected anything different (not even for one stupid hopeful second and no-one can prove otherwise). He pushes the book towards her, and jerks his chin up once, in the closest response to agreement he's capable of.

He walks away without giving her the chance to respond.

(He fucking _hates_ cinema verite).

* * *

And that's it.

From awkward beginning, to interminable middle, to inevitable end.

It's not exactly blockbuster material. Turns out he wasn't even filming an eye-catching indie. It was a_ growth experience, _a celluloid sermon, a piece of preachy propaganda...

A_ Public Service Announcement. _

(Well, Casey _was_ involved. Why is he even surprised?).

If he's honest (which he's not. Ever), he doesn't even see how else it could have gone down. Yeah, maybe there had been this moment (somewhere between the first signpost for Stupid-Misunderstanding-City and the last turnoff for Hopelessly-Fucked-Up-Ville), where they could have...fixed things (done the honesty-tango instead of the horizontal-mambo)...

...But he can't imagine it (and it doesn't count as an alternate ending if it was never filmed).

So, really, he can't see how else he and Casey could have finished up.

(He's pretty sure there's a lie in there _somewhere _– but he's so good that even he can't figure out where).

It's not like the last time, at least. The persistent thrum of pressure underneath his skin is gone. His stomach doesn't hurt. He stops spacing out during conversations – even conversations with _Jerry_ – who, by the way, doesn't hate him anymore. (This might be partly because Jerry has the memory of a goldfish and the grudge-carrying capability of a Labradoodle – but it's also because Derek's no longer Pissy McPokeshisroom-mate).

He even manages to pull it together in lectures, and starts taking notes – since, occasional eye-roll aside, Laura's blanking him so successfully he half-wonders if she's been struck by sudden-onset-amnesia.

So, looking at it from the outside, things are okay. They're so okay that it would be easy to believe that he's over Casey.

(Except that he _knows_ he's not. Not yet, and not for a long time, probably).

See, there are some lies that are just too big, even for him. And some things are just so...obvious, they hardly count as 'truths' at all – they're simple inescapable facts, like gravity.

* * *

Stuff happens. Not really _to_ him, just...in general.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. He's tired, and he's seen enough action to last him a lifetime. The weird and creepy sort-of-relationship with Casey had been like a tour of duty (and he's pretty sure he has Post Traumatic Sex Disorder).

So Jerry meets three girls, and ruins his chances with all of them – without Derek's help this time (soon, Derek thinks Jerry'll be ready to tie his own shoelaces). Zimmer spends a few nights on their couch, whenever Baz thinks he has a shot with Gemma (he misses the target three times, but the fourth he finally hits the bullseye). There's an incident involving alcohol, Baz and Zimmer, and Jerry's demonstration of how he would react to being propositioned by a stable-boy, if he were a horse. (This ends with the television being sent away to be repaired).

And then it's two weeks later, and Derek's still treading water, clinging to the wreckage.

(There's no sign of land yet, but he hasn't gone under...and that's something).

* * *

His first instinct when he catches sight of her, is to retreat – and his feet are in the middle of backing back through the door of the coffee shop when she looks up and catches sight of him and -

"Hi! Oh wow, this is so – how are you?! Um, I mean, it's Derek, right?" she says, jumping out of her seat and coming closer.

"Yeah," he says. He can feel his expression tilt towards grimace.

"Miranda. I am. I mean, I know you know, but in case you forgot. Not that I'm saying you did – but, you know...just in case. Miranda."

He nods and tries to unobtrusively shift over, but her hand seamlessly changes direction mid-reach, and grips his arm squarely.

"Hey – why don't you join me?" she asks brightly (and _tightly_).

* * *

So he ends up sitting opposite Crazy Cheese Girl, participating in a two-person monologue.

"...friend should be here soon...welcome to stay...sure you...find it interesting...we're _studying_ the mind – you _have_ a mind..._study _session, per se...Not...books and notes...more informal...casual discussion...so much fun....really!"

She nods at him, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that she's stopped speaking, and is waiting for a reply. Her smile wavers as he searches for something to say (he's _almost_ positive she was saying something about...something).

"Um. How's Laura?" he offers finally.

The smile falls completely off her face at this, and she shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't seen her lately."

"Oh," he says.

"You know," she bursts out suddenly, "she didn't even _try_ the truth journal."

He watches her frown down at the table, and remembers the last time he spoke to Laura (the last _few _times he'd spoken to her). Yeah, she'd rolled her eyes and made jokes, but...

"She talked about you a lot," he offers.

She stops tracing her fingers through spilled sugar grains, and says (with a common sense that's surprising, given that she's Crazy Cheese Girl), "Talk is cheap."

Which...o-kay. But - see, he doesn't think that's the truth. Or...not the whole truth, at least. Because Laura had talked about her a _lot. _She'd even tried to share her recipe for _Derek au Naturel_ (minimal preparation – just strip and serve on a bed of crisp laundered sheets) in an attempt to make peace with Miranda.

"Interesting attitude for a wannabe psychologist," he says finally, neutrally. (Between this chick and Casey, headshrinkery just got even scarier).

...that was what she had said she was studying, wasn't it? She had said something about minds...or mines, maybe? But then, she'd said _he _had one – a mind, not a mine (though of course Casey would disagree and –)

He stops.

There's the distant sound of someone saying, "You think I'm interesting?" but that's not important, because he's got this _feeling._ It's completely ridiculous (an all-too-convenient plot contrivance), and this is _real life, _and it's not (he _knows _it's not)...

..._but he's got a feeling_.

"This friend of yours...wouldn't happen to be called" – he starts, only for Miranda to wave at someone behind him and call, "Casey, over here!"

* * *

It's overwhelming. Everything seems to expand – getting bigger and louder and brighter and more _real _than it actually is. And suddenly the normality of the last two weeks seems dull and small and insignificant in comparison.

There's this strange frozen moment when their eyes first meet, but it's followed by an even stranger moment, when Miranda says –

"Derek, this is Casey" –

And he has the weird urge to just...go with it. Put out his hand and introduce himself to Casey, like they've never met before (like this is a clean and easy start, instead of an unbelievably messy middle).

But before he even has the chance, Miranda's backtracking. "What am I saying – sorry – duh, you two _obviously_ know each other! Casey only like, dated your room-mate!" She turns to Derek. "I'm not usually such a dipstick, I swear."

He feels something on his arm – he's _guessing_ Miranda's hand (but it could be a disembodied claw for all he knows) because he can't look away from Casey, who's staring back at him.

" – been keeping me company...and I'm sure you wouldn't mind if he joins us, right?" he hears.

"Uh," Casey is still holding his gaze. Slowly, she says, "No, I – that's...that would be – okay."

(The disembodied claw squeezes tighter), and he sits back down.

He's almost certain a conversation happens – he actually hears himself talking about his course (Miranda says something about 'self-actualization' and needing to turn the camera back on himself), but he's on autopilot mode. He just keeps looking at Casey, who just keeps looking back at him.

If _she_ looked away, he'd be able to look away. This is not _significant, _or important in any way. They're just reheating a leftover urge from B.S. (Before Sex). They've always been competitive – put them sitting opposite one another and a staring match inevitably ensues. They're just...falling back into old patterns.

(Incidentally, he appears to have come into some property lately. Located in Egypt, prime riverside location...).

His eyes sweep her face, and her eyes slide over his features just as intently. Their gazes keep colliding (inevitable) – and every time, it's like an electrical charge (it makes his bones buzz). If Casey finds this awkward, she doesn't show it, and Derek doesn't feel embarrassed – he's too busy missing her while she's _right there_ (which, now that he thinks about it, is a pretty accurate summary of their relationship). So they just go right back to mapping each other's faces (looking at each other like if they stare hard enough, they can develop x-ray vision).

Two weeks – it's been two weeks since they've seen each other...two entirely normal weeks, in which time passed entirely normally...not too fast, or too slow. But looking at Casey now, it feels like it's been much longer. He's staring at her like he hasn't seen her in years.

Maybe Casey feels the same, because she bursts out with, "How are you?"

It's possible (probable) that this comes in the middle of another Miranda-logue, since the annoying background hum suddenly stops.

Casey doesn't seem to notice (and he doesn't really care).

He looks at her for a long moment (considering that this eye-lock started the second she reached the table...a _really_ long moment). "Okay," he says finally. "I'm doing...okay." He clears his throat. "You?"

For some strange reason she seems startled by the question. "I'm...yeah," she says, fingers pushing her hair behind her ears. "I'm...fine."

Her fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the table top, and she looks down, breaking eye-contact for the first time. (...that's fine with him. It's not like receiving low-level electrical shocks from Casey's eyes was _pleasant_...exactly).

"Except," she blurts (and something inside him jumps), and she's still watching her fingers tapping, "...it's just – things are kind of. Weird. At the moment. Between me and – my room-mates."

Her sentences come out jerky, with pauses in odd places.

"Oh no. Again?" Miranda says sympathetically. (...she's still there?).

Casey doesn't seem to notice. She looks up again, straight at Derek (his hair practically crackles from the eye-lectricity). She continues, with this look on her face that's hopeful and nervous at the same time, "...and. I have this paper to write. And I should be studying – but I can't...at my place." She swallows. "And I was thinking – wondering...if I could maybe" –

(...here's where it all clicks into place).

It's like...well, it's not exactly likeanything he's ever experienced (but lining up a shot, taking it and _knowing_ the puck's headed for the back of the net – unstoppable – comes closest).

" – if I could maybe," Casey repeats mindlessly, eyes stroking over his face, "maybe come by" –

(...the crowd falls totally silent, breathlessly waiting for that one-in-a-million goal...)

And –

"Oh, Casey, of course!" Miranda interrupts, putting her hand on Casey's arm.

(AND THE CROWD GOES..._huh?!)_

She stares at the hand on her arm and then up at Miranda, looking confused.

"You know you're more than welcome to study at my place."

(Who the hell moved the net?!)

"Oh. Thank you, that's – that's...great," Casey says. She twists her lips into something that has no genetic relation whatsoever to a smile (it's a step-smile!).

"Great!" Miranda claps her hands. "Okay, so, first of all, I'd like to welcome our new study-buddy!" she smiles at him for a long moment, before clearing her throat hurriedly and saying, "Um – okay! So – today I thought we should start with a discussion of post-decision dissonance. Any thoughts, Derek?"

(...none he can repeat in company).

* * *

Things happen _after_ that, of course – boring things, involving words like 'cognitive', 'motivational drive' and 'self-image versus self-concept.'

But the atmosphere between himself and Casey dissolves, due entirely to the talents of Miranda (Crazy Cheese-Lover and Moment-Killer Extraordinaire).

Ultimately, though, it doesn't matter.

He makes his excuses somewhere between 'self perception theory' and 'capuchin monkeys' (yeah, he doesn't know), and he gets up and he walks out, and he doesn't need to analyze the look on Casey's face (but _if_ he did, he'd say it was 'disappointment'), and he doesn't replay the last thing she says ("Oh. Okay. I – guess...I'll see you..." with the upturn at the end, almost a question), over and over in his head.

He doesn't have to.

Because_...he gets it._

The weird thing is...it's something he's always known. Because thinking about it – this whole accidental meeting is an eye-rollingly lame, lazy, plot-dictated twist.

_It's also his life._

No matter how far apart and unrelated it starts out...everything ultimately comes back to Casey. He met her, and suddenly his life wasn't just his life anymore – it was a cosmic game of Six Degrees of Casey McDonald.

And here's the thing. Even having done their level best to lose the gameboard and toss away the dice...

_It still is._

* * *

The first thing he says to her is, "Okay."

Standing in her doorway in baggy pajamas, and flanked by Black Sleeping Mask and Marginally More...Whatever (and _seriously, _it's _ten thirty_!), Casey blinks.

"What?"

"I said, 'Okay,'" he repeats, and raises his eyebrows at her.

"O...kay."

"Good."

She rubs her temple and says, again, "What?"

Black Sleeping Mask murmurs to Marginally More...Whatever, "The only reason I haven't killed anyone yet is because Casey rearranged the drawers and I have no idea where the knives are."

(She's obviously not a fan of romantic comedies).

He keeps his eyes fixed on Casey as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out –

"A napkin?" She looks, if possible, even more stupid with confusion. (If he'd known her response would be to imitate a baffled hamster, he would have done this _weeks_ ago).

"I'm awake, right?" Marginally More...Whatever asks. "It _feels _like I'm awake, but..." she flings an arm towards Derek, handing a paper napkin to Casey.

He gestures at it and she reads the message (...that totally did not take him long to think of or most of a stack of paper napkins to perfect).

"I.O.U 1 Q &A," she reads.

He waits, fingernails digging into his palms, for her response.

She looks up, frowning. "Is that...code?"

"It's a one-time offer," he clarifies. "I'm donating my mind to science."

(Why not? His body already belongs to Casey).

Something he l...ikes about Casey, is that she's a total pro. Because here she is, looking searchingly at him, mind obviously elsewhere, and she still manages an absent, "_What_ mind?"

"That," he points at the napkin, "is a ticket for one," (he stresses the word 'one'), "completely honest conversation with Derek Venturi."

She stares at the paper napkin and then at him, like she can't believe it (him).

(Roses? Chocolates? Drunken requests for dates? Please – that stuff's for amateurs).

"Don't uh, don't lose it," he warns (he's not melting under the warmth of her gaze), "because you need to hand in the coupon to avail of the offer."

"I won't lose it," her lips quirk up at the edges, into something softer than a smile.

"Good," he says vaguely, feeling his mouth tug upwards (a little).

A few seconds later (he's sure it's only a few seconds), and Black Sleeping Mask breaks the mood by snorting and grabbing Casey's elbow.

"She'll be in touch. Now go away!" she calls, rolling her eyes as she hauls Casey backwards and slams the door.

(He doesn't grin at the closed door – and if he did, it would be a _smirk, _not a grin).

* * *

Of course she shows the next day. He promised her an _honest _conversation with Derek Venturi (it's like a moth to the blowtorch).

Except – now he has to...have an honest conversation. With Little Miss Psycho-logy herself. From the first, Casey's been down with the 'ask invasive personal questions' aspect of psychology (it just seems to come naturally to her). Even when the possibility of getting an honest answer could only be expressed in negative numbers, it hadn't stopped her from asking.

He can only imagine the stuff she's going to come up with now that she's been guaranteed sincerity. (Isn't he allowed an anaesthetic before he undergoes a truth-canal?).

By the time Casey shows up at his door, he's built it up so much that he's actually surprised she's doesn't stride in wearing a doctor's lab-coat or spectacles.

But instead she edges in, looking like regular-Casey, _Nutspotting For Beginners _clasped to her chest. And she just stands there, blinking at him.

He waits for her to ask him to lie down on the couch, while she whips out her notebook and quizzes him on his childhood, but she...doesn't.

(Not that he _wants_ the shrink-ray aimed in his direction, but...) Eventually, he starts the ball rolling with, "Uh..." –

"I have a paper!" she says abruptly, and it's his turn to blink. "It's due. Soon. So I should really be working on that."

"O-kay," he says slowly. (Maybe this is an experiment – an emotional maze he's supposed to navigate through?).

"So if you want to..." she makes a weird hand gesture that suggests 'churn butter', "I'll just..." she makes her way over to the couch, opens her book and begins busily flicking through it (so fast she's lucky they don't give tickets for speed-reading).

He stands and watches her for a while, but she keeps her head bent and pretends not to notice, so eventually he settles into one of the armchairs and stares in comfort. He keeps waiting for the Psychological Inquisition...but it doesn't come. He lets himself be lulled by the turning of pages (which grows less frequent), and the way Casey taps her pen against her mouth and the way every time she looks over at him, she comes closer and closer to making eye contact. (Seriously, she starts by darting glances at his feet – fifteen minutes later, she's worked up to his knees...and, bypassing one crucial area, three-quarters of an hour after that, she's flicking glances at his shoulders).

When their eyes finally do meet, the warmth he's already feeling just (boom) explodes into something else, and then Casey's getting to her feet, so he scrambles to his.

"You know, we're studying proxemics," she offers out of nowhere.

"I'm shocked," he deadpans. "Does Nora know?"

She takes a step towards him. "It means personal space," she says, and takes another step. "You see – space is important."

(Well, if anyone would know, it would be someone whose nicknames included 'Space-Case' and 'Spacey'). Though talking about the importance of 'space' as she advances into his...is kind of...odd.

"I mean," she continues, "it varies between cultures and people, but – everyone has a boundary. A comfort zone." Another step. She's travelled the length of the coffee table, and there are (he calculates) roughly three more steps between them.

He swallows.

She takes another step. "If someone invades your personal space, you feel uncomfortable." She looks at him, then steps forward again. There's only one more step between them. "And if you feel uncomfortable, your instinct is to withdraw."

He hears thumping as he waits for her to take the final step. (It's either his heart – or his neighbours have a kicking stereo system).

But she doesn't close the (puts the 'infinite' in 'infinitismal') gap between them. Instead she licks her lips and almost whispers, "Do you feel uncomfortable, Derek?"

"...I'm good," he assures her huskily. His heart is jackhammering in his chest, he can barely breathe, and his skin is tingling like Ed's entire ant farm has been let loose on it (again). (He's more than good – he's _great_).

"That's weird," she says, in a low voice. Her eyes keep flicking to his and then down to his mouth. She swallows. "Maybe you have a smaller comfort zone than other people."

(He's sure his comfort zone is perfectly average compared to other guys his age. Scratch that. His zone is probably _above-average. _He's a _Venturi, _after all).

"Or?" he asks.

She looks at him and...

"Propinquity," she says as she.

Steps.

Forward.

Her hands have just touched his shoulders, and he's started to mirror the leaning thing she's doing when –

The door wrenches open, and Jerry announces his and Zimmer's arrival with the immortal words, "– killer puts the guy's guts in the blender! It sounds _awesome_. Gives a whole new meaning to the humble breakfast smoothie."

He stops. "Oh. Hey, D. Casey."

(Politely, Derek refrains from attempting to strangle him).

"Hi, Jerry," Casey greets him from her new position, several feet away from Derek. (His comfort zone doesn't feel quite so cosy any more). Her glance travels between Jerry and Zimmer (who has three DVD cases in his hands), and Derek. "I should probably go," she decides.

Before Derek has a chance to object, she's grabbing her book off the couch. As she brushes past him (totally violating his personal space in the process – _score_), she says, casually, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He watches the door close behind her, while Jerry calls, oblivious, "Hey, D, check it out – spoof horror movie – soccer player turns serial killer. It's called _Blend it Like Beckham._ Wanna watch?"

* * *

The next day, he fully expects The Conversation.

Instead he gets –

"Cake! I need to make a cake!" as Casey pushes a bag of ingredients into his hands.

"Casey. You're here. Again," Jerry observes from his place on the couch.

"Hi!" she says, and drags Derek towards the kitchen.

"Triple chocolate bliss cake," she tells him, as she starts pulling out bowls and spoons.

He raises his eyebrows. "Let me guess – your room-mates still hate you."

"Not after they taste this cake," she says confidently.

He folds his arms.

"How was I supposed to know it was an art project?" she asks. "It looked like garbage!" She pushes a bowl towards him and hands him a carton of eggs. "Start cracking."

(Some days, it feels like he never stopped).

It's not exactly like yesterday, since Jerry's there, and he keeps interrupting them, wanting juice and cookies, and Derek's help to find that program he wants to watch (and Derek is reminded all over again of why babysitting, good in _theory_ for impressing girls, ultimately sucks as a date-activity).

(He's pretty certain this is a date). Even though Casey doesn't directly mention prox-i-whatsits, there are plenty of opportunities for practical demonstrations, since the kitchen is small. And there's cake, which she allows him to taste – from her fork...though (not that he's _complaining_) that would have been hotter if Jerry hadn't been in the background, poking around in cupboards looking for batteries for the remote.

Her hand brushes against his when she says goodbye. (It could be an accident...).

"I'll – see you tomorrow," she says at the door.

(...but it's totally not).

* * *

He gets it – they're going slow. Casey's testing the waters, dipping her toe in. And as much as he'd like to grab her ankle and pull (he can almost hear the ensuing SPLASH and 'Der-EK!') – given what happened the last time... (yeah – pass him the pen and sign him up for 'slow').

So, day three, and Casey's explaining haptics to him on the couch. He's still listening because anything that allows him to put his hand on Casey's knee (_purely _in the interests of science), is obviously not as stupid as it sounds.

" – think that could be classified as a 'friendship/warmth' touch," Casey says, clearing her throat, and they both watch as his hand slips a bit higher. It's as much of a surprise to him as it is to her (...the kind of surprise that has a shiny ribbon around it...).

"Derek" – she starts, and he straightens up, because she's practically broadcasting Moment of Truth on every frequency, and –

There's a wrenching at the doorknob, followed by a jiggling of keys and swearing, and then (the cream on the disappointment pie), Jerry appears.

"Dude – why'd you lock the door?" he asks, and crosses over to the couch without waiting for an answer.

He plops down next to Derek, who tries using his newly discovered superpower of sexual frustration (hey, all that energy has to go _somewhere_), to incinerate him.

It doesn't work. (Lamest. Superpower. Ever.).

And then Jerry's got the remote and is flicking through the channels at a steady, and incredibly annoying, pace.

"We were kind of in the middle of" –

"Yeah, that's cool – don't mind me," Jerry says absently, tilting his head to the side.

Casey responds with the ever popular, "I should probably" –

"Go?" Derek finishes her sentence for her.

"I'll" –

"Let me guess...see you tomorrow?" (Yeah – when he wanted everyone to follow the script...he didn't mean _Groundhog Day_).

She opens her mouth like she's going to say something (...what's this? An ad-lib?), but Jerry calls out, "Bye, Casey," and the moment is gone.

Afterwards, he grips the back of the couch with both hands and glares at the back of Jerry's head. (It doesn't explode). His fingers start to twitch. (A jury of his peers? He'd walk – no question).

Jerry twists around on the couch. "Hey, D – I'm sorry. I know this is kind of awkward for you, and – dude, I really don't mean to put you in the middle."

"You...noticed the awkwardness?" Derek says, and he doesn't know whether to be impressed (at this display of Jerry's well-hidden observational skills), or homicidal (..._more_ homicidal).

"Dude – I'm not blind!"

(Homicidal. _Homicidal_ definitely wins out).

"I mean – every time I open the freaking door, there she is. Hanging around. Baking. Can you spell 'hung up on me'?"

Derek blinks. "I could," he says carefully, "...but it's not a word. And," he continues, "about Casey being interested in you...I'm thinking – not-so-much." (He's not being _rude, _he's refreshingly honest).

"Dude. Come on," Jerry insists. "Look at what she was wearing today. That skirt –with the..." he gestures at his thighs. "It's so obvious. I mean – what's next? A bikini-top with the words 'Do me!' across the cups?"

(...Derek can hope...).

"I'm telling you something, though – she is wasting her time." Jerry shakes his head. "I'm not getting on that Crazy-Go-Round again."

(Meanwhile, Derek's already bought tickets and is waiting impatiently for the ride to open).

"I mean, _dude,_ there's crazy, and there's _Casey. _Which is like, the next _level _of crazy."

He totally agrees. (But say what you will about 'safety' and the mental health of the girl operating the controls...the ride is a no holds barred thrill fest).

"Man, I hope she gets the message soon," Jerry says. He shakes his head, "It's getting kind of embarrassing."

* * *

Day four, and something's different. It actually takes Derek a second to figure it out as he ushers Casey inside, but then, as he stands next to her and waits to be interrupted, it hits him.

"Practice!" he says. "Jerry has practice this evening."

"Oh," Casey says. Then, as a determined look spreads across her face, "_Good_."

(He never noticed before...but good – is a four letter word).

She opens her bag and takes out – the napkin. "I think the time has come to redeem my truth-coupon," she says dramatically, and holds it right up to his face (presumably so that he can mentally rubberstamp this exchange). He pulls back, to avoid going cross-eyed, and grimaces. Of _course_ Casey's going to make a ceremony of it. (Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth...).

"There are some questions that I feel need to be answered," she says, rooting in her bag. She pulls out –

"_Some_ questions?" he asks in disbelief. She has a _sheaf_ of paper, dark with single-spaced text.

"Is this valid - or not?" she asks, brandishing the napkin challengingly.

He stares at it, then at her. She's staring back at him, lips pressed together.

"...I get power of veto," he says finally, because he always suspected it would be bad, but this...this surpasses his wildest expectations. (This isn't a _moment _of truth. This is _hours _of honesty).

Her eyes narrow. But she nods, once, and hands over the bundle of papers.

He scans through the questions as quickly as possible. Then, "Pencil?" He puts out his hand.

She looks at him for a long moment, and her mouth twists. "Pencil," she says dully, and she pulls one out of her bag.

He draws a line through three questions. (One – because there is no way on earth he can ask his mother if he was breast-fed, two – because even if he ever _had_ those kind of dreams, he's thankfully repressed all memories of them, and three – because..._Sam? _Really?).

He hands the questionnaire back.

She blinks. "That's it?" She flips through the papers, searching out the vetoed questions.

He holds his hands out at his sides. "Do your worst," he says, and closes his eyes.

He opens them at the sound of ripping paper. Her eyes meet his, and she looks...

He only has a second to figure it out – before the torn sheets even flutter to the floor, Casey's launching herself at him.

Happy, he thinks. (Based on the evidence of his lips opening under hers – he's going with 'happy').

* * *

He's on the couch, and Casey's on top of him and kissing him frantically when –

"Derek," she pulls back slightly, "Derek, listen."

She kisses him again (funfair music is pulsing in his head), and she keeps kissing him in between words (he can practically taste the candyfloss) as she says, urgently, "This is important."

He slides his hands up her thighs and tries to look attentive.

"Seriously," she says, running her hands down his shoulders, past his stomach and –

(He breathes in sharply).

"This is _crucial,_" she insists breathlessly, as her fingers start fumbling.

(He couldn't agree more).

And then he hears it – the sound he's been waiting for.

"Derek – a relationship is defined as" –

(But if anyone asks, it's the sound of his belt being unbuckled).

* * *

Plot summary: it's him and Casey. That doesn't sound like much, but trust him, it's all in the delivery.

(It's a classic).


End file.
